


Acceleration

by Winterstar



Series: This is battle; this is war. [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, BDSM, Dom/sub, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, M/M, More Avengers to come!, Plotty, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love story continued...</p><p>Tony fights to win Steve's trust again, but an outside force has other plans. Hydra makes a new appearance on the world scene and both Steve and Tony are in danger. While they try to mend the bonds of their new relationship, something hideous might stop them....or leave one of them for dead.</p><p>You really need to read the first story <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/698304">Objects in Motion</a> before this one to know what is going on!</p><p>Excerpt:<br/><i>Steve crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. “Are we really going to do this?”</i></p><p>   <i>Tony cocks an eyebrow and says, “Yes, babe, we really are.” He waits to see what Steve’s reaction will be to his blatant flirtation. This will make or break them, this simple gesture.</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CHAOS

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story of both domestic bliss/angst interwoven with an action/adventure plot. There are scenes of graphic violence. I also want to warn that the impact play includes some strikes to the groin area. So be warned.
> 
> Chapter 1 was beta edited by the lovelies rabidchild67 and elrhiarhodan, who are not even big participants of the fandom. So \o/ kudos to them for helping me out! The rest are edited by rabidchild67.

CHAPTER 1  
Many in the world of mathematics argue about the exact meaning of chaos, which in and of itself seems like an internal oxymoron to Tony. He knows that Tabor once defined chaos as a system reliant and very sensitive to initial conditions, where even the slightest change in that early time period would lead to vastly different outcomes, thus the butterfly effect. Meanwhile, Bai-Lin Hao actually described chaos as a system without periodicity which makes a strange kind of sense to Tony as he considers it. 

From his earliest understandings of chaos where everything has a tendency to go to entropy (he’s actually tested this out in his workshop more than once – anytime he tries to be systematic about the how and the why of the placement of things, it always ends up a mess). Yet, if he accepts chaos as an inevitable end point of all systems, then he, Tony Stark, is fucked. So, he tends to try and find a better way to understand things, a simpler way that might just benefit him. 

One of particular interest to Tony as he sits in the room and stares at the walls, the walls decorated with Steve’s illustration, is Occam’s Razor. While it has been bastardized in the common press and media, Occam’s Razor is refined and beautiful, yet Tony thinks fatally flawed. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one, stated so simply by the press forgets the operative word, usually. When is it not the correct one? When does Occam’s Razor fail or, in other words, when does the order of the universe come apart? When does chaos not reign and something else, something undefined take over?

In Tony’s mind it comes apart, , because of one thing, and one thing only. Human frailty. It hardly seems right to balance the whole of the universe, the whole of existence on human frailty, but if he gets existential about it, and likely he would considering the circumstances, the only thing that really matters in this life is the personal presence. The order of the universe, his universe shatters into little parts and bits. He’s reminded of shrapnel and how small and inconsequential little bits and pieces can seem but how very horrible they can end up being.

A simple confession, a few words of truth would have averted the whole damned mess. In all truth to himself, Tony didn’t think it meant a damned thing, didn’t think that Fury setting Tony on some idiotic mission called Watch America, or making sure Captain America has time to process and doesn’t hurt anyone or himself during the trip would be such a big deal. But Tony is a genius and he can take apart a problem and rip it to shreds to find the roots of it. 

Steve needed space, to breathe, to see, to experience without anyone else interfering. Tony had been the best candidate to spend time with because both Tony and Steve are strong personalities, don’t always get along, and have a tendency to clash and tear and grind each other until they get to a meaningful resolution. He spent a good portion of his youth idolizing Captain America, another portion of his adult life hating Captain America, then recently resenting Captain America. But now, he looks at the walls with the sketches all over them. What does he feel now?

He stares at the walls for hours, for days. Many would have predicted that Tony would disintegrate and fall into his old patterns of drink and women, but instead he found sanctuary in the room of his enemy, his lover. He bows his head and closes his eyes. His love.

Swallowing hard, he gains strength and examines the walls again. Near the door, but farthest from the bed Steve slept in while they vacationed in Tony’s house on Lake Chautauqua is a scene depicting what Tony can only surmise is the last thing Steve recalls before going down. It is a cockpit, the view from the cockpit. The window is cracked, the clouds are wispy – like angels he called them – and the ice looks like daggers jutting up from the merciless sea. He reaches out to touch the control console, the blurred out memory of Peggy in the watch. He smears it, and snaps his hand away. Not all of the walls are drawn in pencil, but this one is, as if it is insubstantial and fragmentary in its concept and meaning, though to Tony it has all the meaning in the world. If this moment had not happened – Tony stops that thought and moves on to the next wall. What he is looking for he is sure he will not find, but he must look. It is part of what he has learned over the last weeks. It is part of who he is now.

In the next wall mural, there is a confusion of sights and images that makes Tony’s head hurt. It almost looks like Steve drew this in a frenetic fugue, trying to patch together broken pieces of a mosaic that do not fit. He can see the reported moment in Times Square, he sees something that looks like a ward in a hospital. Another image captures him and stills him. It looks as if he’s staring into the heart of a prison cell.

Jesus Fucking Christ. He turns away from the walls, and for a moment only wants to drown himself – to do what every fucking person in his god damned world would predict and get shitfaced drunk. He wants to relent and give in, surrender to his natural impulse to be that chaotic energy. Yet, he is surrounded by the reasons why, why he doesn’t.

So, Tony sits for days. Looking and studying the walls that Steve created in his house by the lake. He touches the walls as if reaching out might link him to what he had with Steve. Nothing works, of course. He’s broken, too fucking lost to actually mean anything to anyone. He rubs the bridge of his nose. 

Every part of him feels like he’s falling, losing, circling into the abyss of his memories and the pain. He might as well be holding a toxic core inside of him. He might as well be poisoned by palladium instead of fit and healthy and wanting.

Wanting.

Wanting Steve.

The taste, the vibration of his flesh beneath and around Tony still thunders through him. He stands up to walk it off, to forget that Steve is gone. He wanders to another corner of the room and his gaze fall on a scene he hadn’t appreciated before. since the room itself with its illustrations all over the walls from floor to ceiling is overwhelming at times. There – in a corner near the bed, where Tony thinks that if Steve turned over in the morning onto his side it would be the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes – is a scene that startles and turns him cold.

It is Captain America sans cowl but without features draw – a blank face, only eyes staring upward to the sky. He follows the line of the sight and he sees and recognizes the figure. It is Iron Man or rather, him. It isn’t truly Iron Man because Steve has drawn Tony not Iron Man. The fall from the sky is stark and chills him down to his marrow. In the illustration, his eyes are closed as if in repose, but a light shines from his chest. It illuminates everything. Tony touches the mural, notes the heavy lines and work done to the figure representing himself, while the sketch of Captain America is either unfinished or intentionally left that way. Tony realizes as he studies the drawing that the angle of his descent will lead to him falling right in the center of a star drawn on the ground. He looks over the entire drawing and sees the star is actually the representation of the shield, Captain America’s shield. 

Why would Steve draw it this way? Why would he finish everything else but the figure that represents him? He touches the wall, and whispers a curse.

He needs a god damned drink. He indulges and he watches in some obscene disjointed way as he slowly disassociates from the pain. At one point, he finds himself in Steve’s bed; the sheets still smell of him, the pillow like his shampoo. Inhaling it, he lays there with eyes open and reality hitting him in the face. He wonders if this is how Steve felt every god damned day. Go to sleep, dream of the war, your buddies, wake up and see the walls – the walls of discontentment, of the fact that everything you fucking know is gone and you are just a god damned ghost walking.

Tony fucked him over, he knows that, he should have come clean. He should have told Steve the story, they could have laughed over it, and then got back to the amazing fucking. Jesus, he rolls over on the bed and doesn’t listen for the umpteenth time that JARVIS calls to him, informing him of a phone call or a query. 

He says, “Fuck off, JARVIS.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“Snarky little devil, aren’t you?”

“I strive to emulate my maker, sir.” 

Tony rolls his eyes and that makes his sodden, drunken head hurt. He wants to talk to Steve, needs to talk to Steve. So he grabs his phone and calls. It goes to voice mail and he isn’t above begging but he can’t get his tongue to move correctly so he just says, “You can’t fight acceleration.” He hangs up; he knows Steve won’t understand what he just said. He’s not even sure he understands it. 

They are objects in motion, always in motion unless someone, something stops them. Steve is letting someone stop them. The idea of their motion – their forward acceleration being interrupted, being slowed or even stopped, grips Tony until he’s angry. He’s not sure who the hell he’s angry with, but he thinks it might be Fury (at least a little bit) and he knows to the pit of his core that he’s angry with Steve. Angry, pissed, livid doesn’t serve him at all. He gathers himself up from the bed, grabs hold of the tumbler with his bourbon, and smashes it against the wall. The liquid rains down on the figure of Captain America, he becomes a blur under the untouched, perfect figure of Tony falling from the heavens.

He hates Captain America, but he despises Steve Rogers even more.

*oOo*  
He feels the cold press of a hand against his cheek. His first thought is that Steve has returned and he lets the wash of warm from his chest fill him. The hand is too small, though, too fine in structure and graceful in touch. The light is too bright and the air hurts his skin. He doesn’t want to answer the calls beckoning him; he doesn’t want to listen to the fine sweet voice speaking over him.

“Come on, Tony.”

He only groans in response, but he thinks that’s a step up considering he believes that yesterday (or was it last week) he was incapable to telling JARVIS to go fuck off. 

“What did you do to yourself?” 

“Pep-.” Crappers. He does not want to deal with Pepper right now, the idea of Pepper and his driver – his god damned driver – getting it on just might make him puke. Nope, it isn’t just a might anymore. He bats her hands away as he struggles to his feet and staggers over to the en suite bathroom. Pitching over the bowl, he kneels and vomits robustly. His ribs ache with it and he gags a few times afterward.

He sinks back onto his ass and looks up at her standing at the doorway to the bathroom. 

“This isn’t funny, Tony.”

“Did I say it was?” He stands, makes it to the sink, and rinses his mouth out with water. He lets the water drip down and throws more over his head and through his hair. He’s not sure how, but the next thing he knows, he’s back on the bed again.

She frowns at him and gives him that look she always throws at him when she doesn’t approve.

He raises a hand in surrender. “No, seriously, I don’t remember. Did I say something was funny, because if I did, I’d really like to know.” He turns to the side and whispers. “I need something funny in my life right now.”

“You want something funny in your life, Stark,” Fury appears at Pepper’s side. “I’ll give you something funny.”

He startles at Fury’s appearance and says, “God, you let him in my home? Et tu, Pepper? Really, how is this being a good friend to me? I thought, at the very least, I’d get good friend status since you stole my driver in more ways than one.”

“Tony.”

“I’m not laughing, Stark, I am not laughing at all. Does this look like a face that is laughing?”

He blanches at Fury and says, “You don’t want to know what kind of face I think it looks like.” For a second, he’s awkwardly aware that Fury is standing over him and he’s sprawled out on a bed, then it comes to him – all the walls – the drawings all over the walls. Shit, these are private things; these are things Steve would not want to share with the one-eyed wonder. He leaps to his feet and the room decides it is a rollercoaster and it does a nice loop and a fall. Briefly, he considers whether or not he should make for the bathroom again, when he sees the walls. He spins around, the walls are clean. There isn’t a smudge or drawing anywhere. What the hell?

“Shit.”

“Stark, are you even listening to me?” Fury glares at him. 

“Where the hell?” He turns to Pepper and tries to remember the last few hours. She’s frowning as if she’s anxious or worried. She gets this little look to her eyes and nose when she’s serious and concerned. It pinches up and it is one of the things that always attracted him to her. “Pepper?”

“I only brought him here because you were not answering your phone, even for me. And then JARVIS called.”

“JARVIS call-?” He scans the room and looks up to the ceiling and then when he does, knows he isn’t in Steve’s room. This is his room, when the hell did he climb the stairs? How the hell did he climb the stairs and not end up with a concussion or a brain seizure or something equally nasty. “JARVIS, we’re having words.”

“I thought that’s what we were already having, sir, but if you say so I wait with virtual bated breath.”

“Even you’re A.I. is a pain in the ass, Stark.”

Tony snickers at him and waltzes out of his bedroom. “You know, Fury, if you think you’re invited into my bedroom, you might want to bring me flowers, or chocolates, or the code to the super-secret SHIELD intranet.”

“Intranet – you are not supposed to know about- how do you know about that?” 

Tony sways a little into Fury’s personal space and circles his finger around his own face and says, “Genius, keep up.”

Fury presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, and holds his breath before releasing it and saying, “Can we please get back to business?”

“I didn’t know we were conducting business, in my bedroom. Now I definitely want to be paid.”

“Tony, that is not nice,” Pepper chimes in. He forgot she was there – but that’s the way it is with Pepper. She’s there when he needs her and steps away when he doesn’t. God, he misses her. 

Instead of responding, he leads the way downstairs as Fury is ranting, “I don’t know what kind of experiments you’re currently conducting, but you might want to clean your kitchen or at least have the staff do it.” 

When Tony turns the corner from the hallway into the living room and open kitchen, the smell hits him and he gags a little. He vaguely remembers calling the cleaning service and telling them to fuck off. He’ll have to rectify that and soon. The table is still set, exactly as Steve had placed it right before he left. A romantic dinner for two. The plates and food and pots on the stove are still there. Everything is caked and dried and rotting. His chest throbs a beat and he needs to hold onto the counter for a moment to catch his breath. Maybe they think he’s too drunk, maybe they think he’s a loser. He doesn’t know; it hurts too much. How long has it been?

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday,” Pepper says before Fury can chew out his ass for losing track of time. For God’s sake, that’s what he does – lose time – doesn’t matter if he’s drinking or inventing. He loses time.

“Shit.” He’s been mourning for nearly six days. He wasn’t finished yet. He had plans, big plans which included a lot of jerking off and a whole lot more booze. “Why are you here?” He ambles over to the refrigerator. There has to be something still edible in there. Cheese, cheese is always good, right? He pulls that out and then goes to the cupboard and fishes out some crackers.

He can’t remember the last time he ate. 

“So, where is he then?” Fury is saying and Tony realizes he must have zoned out again, because he missed a whole part of Fury’s rant. 

“What?”

Fury sighs and says, “Captain America, you know… big guy. Stands about so high, can punch through a brick wall, sometimes wears obscenely tight pants, and also goes by the name of Steve Rogers.”

Tony points the cracker at Fury. “You know, he would not be pleased that you are looking at his pants.”

“Where is he?”

Tony shrugs. He is not in the mood for this.

Pepper is looking at him, really examining him and he does not want her to see what’s so painfully obvious in his head. “Tony, is Steve around? JARVIS wouldn’t relate any information to me.”

God bless his A.I. “I love you, JARVIS.”

“As I do you, sir.”

“Stark, I am waiting, waiting to find out what you did with a national treasure. After you brought him to Vegas, tell me that you did not get him married off to a circus lady with a beard.” Fury stalks around the living room area with his leather coat flapping around him. It reminds him of a bat flying through the night; for a minute he considers whether or not Fury is a rabies hazard. 

Tony chews on the crackers and gazes out to the lake. It is a pretty lake, he should consider coming here in the summer, but now he realizes he may never come here again.

Turning to Pepper he says, “Remind me to put this place up for sale.”

“What? Why?”

“I hate it here. In the middle of buttfuck nowhere. Why do I even invest here?” Tony pops some of the cheese in his mouth and looks around to see if there’s any wine anywhere.

“Captain America, Steve Rogers, remember him? Where the hell is he?” Fury yells. Tony thinks he might bust an artery at any time.

“I don’t know. He up and left about five, yes five or six days ago. Needed to process or maybe pee, I don’t know. I am not my grandpa’s keeper.”

“You fucking lost Captain America, how do you even do that, Stark, how do you manage to screw with my life in new and various ways?”

Tony does the little circle around his face again and deadpans, “Genius, remember?”

“Son of a-. You have to find him, Stark. We traced his phone to this location, and then the trail went dead. So you are on the hook to find Captain America.” Fury gives him that sardonic, almost fiendish look that borders on self-satisfied at the same time.

While Tony processes this information, one thing keeps ringing in his head – the phone. The many times he called Steve on the phone and the damned thing was here all the time. He knows it cannot possibly be in Steve’s room, since he spent (he believes) the vast majority of his time within those walls, drinking the last of Steve in. So, where?

He stares at the door to the mudroom and attached garage. He knows where the phone is, this isn’t even close to rocket science. Crossing the room, he swings open the door and goes through the mudroom to the garage. The parking spot where the motorcycle had been is empty, of course. Lying on a shelf near the bike’s spot is the smartphone. It’s been in the cold garage all along. Tony picks it up and stares at it, knowing it is probably dead from the battery drainage, knowing his messages are lost to the voice mail, never heard. 

He hates Steve Rogers a little more when the stab to the heart feels like pelts of sleet and iced rain. 

“Here’s his damned phone,” Tony says and tosses it to Fury. “Capsicle’s a little smarter than I gave him credit for.” He glimpses something else on the shelf and grabs the card. “Your charge card. Definitely smarter, you shouldn’t have let him watch so much television.”

Tony pushes past Fury and goes back into the warmth of the house. Pepper had hung back but she still has that pinched frown on her face as she studies him. She knows something is up, she’s like a god damned ferret, digging at something until she finds it. He wants to growl at her, but doing that just feels like kicking kittens. 

She opens her mouth as if to ask him something, but Fury is right on his heels and with only one look from Tony, she reconsiders and turns away. Silently, he thanks her. She has always been a blessing to him. 

“This is your fault, yours. You need to do something about it.” Fury stomps around the kitchen. He scans the mess of dishes and old rotting food. Cringing at the stench, he curses and says to Tony, “Don’t know how anyone lives like this. Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, is that it? Can’t pick up after yourself?” He opens up the cupboard under the sink, drags out the garbage bin, and starts chucking in the food. “You find him, Stark.”

Tony watches as Fury, in his rage, systematically dumps all the old food, piles the dirty pots and dishes to the side of the sink and then stoppers the sink to fill it with sudsy water. 

“I’m not exactly sure what you want me to do. As we’ve already established, I’m a genius, not a miracle worker.” 

“Seems to me you should be able to put a couple of those brain cells you still got functioning in that very abused head of yours to work and figure something out.” Fury yanks open the dishwasher like he has a feud with it and begins to pile the dishes into slots in it. He’s strangely meticulous about the task.

"Other than the fact you seem oddly comfortable cleaning my kitchen, and I'm a little perplexed and maybe a little turned on by that fact," Tony says as he leans against the kitchen island. "I just don't think I want to offer any more of my brain cells to you or your organization to consider or do things for you."

Fury nearly growls at Tony, but instead he grabs a sponge, finishes cleaning off the stuck on pasta dish, and tosses the plate in the dishwasher. Glaring at Tony, Fury turns and says, "There are times I truly consider whether or not I should risk being charged with treason, I want to kill you that much."

"Interesting that killing me would be a treasonous offense." Tony arches a brow at him.

"Tony, play nice," Pepper says but doesn't look up from the Stark phone she's tapping on.

"I am playing nice, Pepp. I share my toys, I babysit, how much frigging nicer can I play?" He opens his arms wide and turns around as he adds, "Tell me, please."

Fury kicks the dishwasher closed and says, "You could find what you lost."

"Didn't you hear me? Big boy, and he is one at that, walked out, vamoosed, skedaddled all on his own. He decided to leave, did not leave me with a forwarding address. He's an adult, he can figure out what and where to go." Tony walks over to the sidebar in the living room. He pours two fingers of scotch and downs it. He lifts the glass and says, "Hair of the dog, you know."

Frowning, Fury says, "We need to discuss this. You are coming with me."

"Make me."

Pepper looks up and shares an unspoken word with Fury before she says, "Hydra is back."

*oOo*  
Tony keeps trying to make sense of what Pepper told him, what Fury has been raging about for the last hour. They don't waste any time. After Tony gathers up his suitcase and his luggage, he follows Fury and Pepper to a back parking lot of - a Walmart store of all things - where a Quinjet sits parked and waiting for them. Tony isn't happy, no sirree. No one will explain anything to him, even Pepper.

"You're trying to tell me that a super-secret evil organization from the 1940s still exists to this day, even after its leader - a guy with a red skull and no nose or ears for that matter - disappeared into the great cosmos?" Tony says as they jog to the Quinjet. 

"We will discuss it once we get back to HQ."

Grabbing Fury’s arm, Tony spins him around to face him. “No, I am not going to SHIELD HQ until I get an explanation of what the hell is going on.” Deep in his bones, in the marrow, he fights a weakness when he thinks of Steve, unaware and alone, against an organization he defeated so many years ago. What would they do to Steve, if they find him first? What is their ultimate plan?

“I told you we will discuss it in a more secure environment.” Fury tugs his sleeve free and stalks off to board the jet.

“Just tell me,” Tony yells over the whine of the engines. “Just tell me if Steve’s in danger.”

Fury stops, but doesn’t turn around immediately. Something sinks and falls, a stone in the pit of him, as Fury bows his head and then his shoulders sag. Tony glances at Pepper, who’s stopped next to him, her face pinched and set. 

“Jesus Christ, is he in danger, right the fuck now? What the hell?” Tony throws down the suitcase. “We’ve been lollygagging around and some archaic, racist bastards are after Steve?” 

Pepper doesn’t wait for permission from Fury this time. Instead, she says just over the rumble of the engines. “They don’t know, they don’t know anything yet.”

“Fine, then I intend to find out.” Tony trips the mechanism on the case and it jumps open. He steps into the suit as he tosses his winter jacket to Pepper. “I can get there faster, and find him faster this way.”

“Stark, I do not-.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, not now, and not when it comes to Steve,” Tony says as the suit wraps around him like a cloak, like protection, like a shield. Before the helmet shuts down over his face, Tony leans into Pepper and says, “Stay happy with Happy, okay.” He gives her a quick peck on the cheek and, before she can reply, the faceplate closes and he says to Fury, “Meet you back at the ranch, Hoss.”

*oOo*  
Tony loves to fly; he loves the absolute freedom and acceleration of the moment. As he moves through the air, he’s unbound, unfettered, and out of control. This is Tony, this is who he is. He is Iron Man. The ability to move and go where he wants when he wants is ingrained in him like the need to breathe. 

It shocks him then, like little pinpoints, sharp and edged and unrelenting: He wants Steve more than this – more than flying, more than soaring over the landscape below, falling away, releasing him from the mundane of the Earth. He nearly stops dead in the air as his concentration falters, as his heart stutters and yearns like a fucking teenaged girl. JARVIS stabilizes the suit and he streaks across the sky as a comet would, burning and bright. 

At least he’s somewhat out of his stupor of non-action now, he can thank Fury for that, even though thanking Cyclops is not one of the things he actually likes to do. He keeps telling himself he’s on his way to find Steve, to get Steve back in his life, even if the stupid dope doesn’t get it. At the half way point, he asks JARVIS for an update on SHIELD and their progress trying to locate Hydra.

“At this time, sir, their information is limited.”

“Limited in that you don’t have access, or limited because they don’t know what the hell they are doing?”

“Both, sir.”

“Interesting, get me access to their network. We’ll write in some code to fix that.”

“Both, sir?”

“Well, I’m a genius not a miracle worker. I can’t fix stupidity.” He continues on his flight and about thirty minutes out of New York City, when he’s angling to fly toward SHIELD headquarters, JARVIS stops him.

“Sir, I have picked up a disturbance near the residence of Captain Rogers.”

“What? Specifics, JARVIS, specifics.”

“A resident of the apartment building in which Captain Rogers lives called the police complaining of a break in. The police have not responded.”

“What?” Tony switches his flight pattern and heads toward Brooklyn instead of Manhattan. “Access all street cameras and building security video streams. I want to know what the hell is going on. Try and access the NYPD, call them, and report the incident.”

“As you say, sir.”

He’s only five minutes out when JARVIS is saying, “Sir, the police are on their way, but Captain Rogers has entered the building. He is unaware of the situation. I am trying to call him on his cell phone but he has not answered it.”

“And what exactly is the situation?”

“From my surveillance, several agents who appear to be SHIELD agents have entered the building. It seems as if they have broken into one of the apartments and are currently ransacking it.”

“Even I can’t believe Fury would permit that,” Tony says and swoops between the buildings. Fury wouldn’t need to be so blatant and grotesque about a search; he’d plant bugs, video surveillance – hell, he probably already has for Steve’s place. For a horrifying moment, he’s drawn back to the assault on New York and the Chitauri worm-like things that raced after him like he was Jonah. He forces himself out of the memory and glides to a stop in front of the building. “Give me locations, JARVIS.”

People stop in the street, taxis and cars halt as he marches along the sidewalk up to the concrete steps to Steve’s small apartment building. It looks like a converted brownstone. There can’t be more than three or four apartments, tops, in the building. Tony scans the street; there are no visible SHIELD vehicles, just a black SUV hanging at the end of the block. That could be the transport car, or it could be something else. 

“Captain Rogers has entered the building and is in the vestibule. Three agents are headed down the stairwell and are on the second floor landing.”

Shit, he doesn’t have much time. He climbs the stairs and swings open the door, just as an agent rounds the landing on the dark wooden staircase. The agent has something in her hand. Steve turns and looks up as Tony enters the vestibule. 

“Tony, wha-.” He takes one step toward Tony and it probably saves his life because the bullet glances off his shoulder instead of piercing his back and hitting his heart. Steve spins on his heels while grabbing at the bleeding wound. 

Sprinting as much as he can in full armor, Tony yanks Steve out of the way. “Get behind me.”

The agent in the stairwell has been joined by two others with higher power assault rifles. “JARVIS, give me targets.”

“Done, sir.” 

“Think about it, rifles against Iron Man?” Tony stands there, a wall of defense and offense, his shoulders sporting an array of firearms. 

The two men behind the woman ease to a crouched position and, lowering their rifles, place them on the floor of the landing. The woman hasn’t relinquished her gun. Narrowing her eyes, she says, “Iron Man and Captain America, just who we were looking for. How fortuitous that _you_ showed up.”

“And why would that be? My legendary charm, my fantastic intellect, my ability to blow bullies like you out of the sky?” 

“Iron Man,” Steve says from behind and Tony knows he’s attempting to get his shield in place, but the bag with it is in front of Tony and Steve is now behind him. 

“Stay where you are, Captain Rogers,” Tony says. He doesn’t need the good Captain distracting him now when he has the bitch in his sights. “Drop the gun.”

“I don’t think so.” The woman murmurs something under her breath and, as everything clicks into place, Steve warns him.

“Behind you.”

The doors burst open and all hell breaks loose when another trio of assailants enters the building. In the distance, Tony can hear people screaming and the crack of gun fire. There’s motion and falling and targeting. He calls out his orders to JARVIS who instantly follows his lead. Steve falls back; he knows he’s a liability to Tony since he doesn’t have any fucking armor on at all, not even his spangly outfit, and his shield is still in a leather bag tossed to the side of the space near the row of mailboxes.

Tony doesn’t like to kill, he isn’t a murderer, and he doesn’t like to know blood is on his hands. Not after everything in Afghanistan, not after everything he’s learned and experienced. But this is battle, this is war. He doesn’t stop when he hears the ping of bullets hit his armor. The enclosed space causes difficulties in targeting while trying to decrease collateral damages. 

“To the right, and then center, JARVIS.” 

The explosion of missiles slams into the arch of the doorway, collapsing it upon the three attackers entering the building. As Tony twists around to check on the three behind them, he spies Steve crouched in the corner, tugging out his shield. He stands with arms outstretched, repulsors aimed at the stairwell and at the crumbled doorway. 

“Sir, the police are arriving. Also, Agent Barton reports that the Quinjet is three minutes out.”

“Nice of them to join the party,” Tony says and then turns back to the task at hand. “Any of you want to try me? Go on, make my day.”

Steve rises with his shield clutched in his fist. He’s no worse for wear, but Tony can see the smear of blood on the back of his jacket. Two of the attackers are out cold; one is rolling around moaning about his leg. Tony just wants to shoot it the fuck off. The woman and the men on the landing haven’t stood down, but do once the NYPD SWAT team moves in.

Tony retracts the faceplate and says, “I’d like to know who’s doing SHIELD’s laundry because just about anyone can get a hold of their uniforms these days. Where’d you find these?” 

The woman sneers, her short cropped hair vibrant orange against her pale skin. “We tell you nothing. Cut off one head and two will take its place. Hail Hydra.” She and the other two others with her bite down on capsules and instantly fall to the floor. 

“Call paramedics!” Tony yells to the NYPD officer entering the building. “And make sure he doesn’t have anything in his mouth. Any of them.” Tony indicates the man still awake and groaning over his leg as well as the other unconscious men.

“Can you tell me what just happened?” Steve says and winces a little as he moves his shield to his shoulder. “Did I hear what I thought I heard?”

“Yes, yes you did,” Tony says and looks at Steve, really looks at him. He’s tense but that’s to be expected considering he was just attacked by Hydra agents in the vestibule of the 19th century brownstone apartment building he lives in. The furrow between his brows is deep, but what tells Tony the most is the weariness in his eyes, as if he hasn’t slept in days, as if he’s haunted still. “Turn around Ice Pop and let me see your back.” 

Tony ignores the swarming police and the real SHIELD agents as they arrive on the scene. Instead, he focuses on Steve, the straight way he holds his shoulders even though one has a bullet hole, the lines etched in a face too young to be burdened with such deviance. 

Before Steve complies with Tony’s request, Barton appears at the blown out hole of a doorway. “Good going, Iron Man. Won’t be able to hide this from the evening news.” 

“Well, if SHIELD and all its lackeys, current company of the bird variety excluded, would do their job…”

“We were doing our job, Stark, until you lost Captain Rogers,” Fury states as he climbs into the smoking hole in the front of the building.

“Excuse me,” Steve growls. “I’m a grown man; I don’t need anyone to look after me. Now, can someone tell me why my building has a great big hole in the front of it, and there are Hydra agents littering the floor – or did I fall asleep again and bring you all back to the 1940s with me?”

“Oh please, not that,” Barton mumbles as he picks his way through the rubble, checking one of the attackers to clear his mouth of any poison. 

“I could only be so lucky,” Steve snaps in reply and it hurts and digs a hole into Tony’s chest that isn’t filled with a piece of brilliant technology, but is empty, and barren, and ugly.

“Stark, Rogers, you’re with me.” Fury orders and then turns on his heel and disappears out to the Brooklyn street.

Tony glances at Steve, his mouth is set, and his eyes fixed on the dead woman on the landing. Retracting the glove and gauntlet from his hand and arm, Tony reaches out and touches Steve. He flinches but settles almost immediately. 

“I guess life’s back to normal now, huh?”

“Fuck,” Tony says and sees the same resignation in Steve’s eyes that he feels in the cold pit of his stomach.


	2. Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A love story continued....
> 
> Tony learns about the new threats from an organization calling itself Hydra. Fury benches the Captain and Tony gets his wish for time alone with Steve, but will it mean anything if Steve isn't willing to listen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to rabidchild67 - who is a spectacular beta reader/editor. She really makes me sound and look like a real writer! Thanks so much!!

CHAPTER 2  
Sitting in the briefing room in SHIELD headquarters, Tony crosses his arms and surveys the room. He hadn’t followed Fury back to headquarters immediately; he went to the Tower and removed the armor. While he considered lingering just to piss Fury off, he ended up rushing back because he needed to see Steve, he needed to make things right. 

The ugly place inside of him, the place that hates the world because he hates himself, turns and curls like curdled milk. It brings a sour taste to his mouth as if he’s swallowed down his bile when he thinks of losing Steve. Still he’s furious with Steve, some parts of him might actually hate Steve, but he thinks he’s established that fact already. Yet, in the end when he glimpsed the blood stains across Steve’s back, when he recalls the moment of absolute fear he experienced when he saw Steve in danger, Tony acknowledges the balance of his feelings toward Steve are not in the direction of loathing, but something sweeter, more delicate, something he will surely ruin.

The SHIELD briefing room is longer than it is wide and has a certain feel of a ceremonial hall or chamber to it. It stands in stark contrast to the rest of the building, which is of contemporary design. This room echoes the architecture of the U.S. Capitol building with its marble floors, dark carved woods, and long arching windows. These windows, which cover one long wall of the room, are covered with thick, heavy drapery which Tony is sure is meant to impress or suppress whoever is in here to some kind of complacency. He ignores it. 

When he walked through the doors into the long steel lobby of the SHIELD HQ, he’d been escorted here without so much of a how do you do. He feels strangely like a prisoner. Fortunately, when he inquired after Pepper, he had been informed that she had left the property a short thirty minutes before and would speak to him after his briefing with the Director.

Barton and Natasha are sitting in their little corner whispering to one another. Occasionally, Barton looks up at Tony and chuckles. Sometimes, he just wants to bop bird brain in the mouth. Little sardonic bastard.

Steve walks into the room and they quiet. He has his arm in a sling and his shirt slung over his injured shoulder. His shoulder is taped up and he looks world weary already. Tony jumps to his feet and starts to cross the room when Steve’s icy stare halts him. Tony crumples into his chair and he allows for only a moment of self-pity. Only a moment, because in the end he’s Tony fucking Stark and no one treats him with disregard or contempt, not even Captain America. 

When Steve eases into a chair, he sighs a little and turns to Tony. There’s a distance in his gaze that’s off-putting and silencing. He leans over to Tony and says, “Thanks, for being there, today. I appreciate it.”

He shrugs and would slap him on the back except the guy is injured. “No problem.” He raises his chin a bit and goads, “Little bullet really put you out, there, big guy.”

“Cure is worse than the injury.”

“Yeah, you try having them dig a bullet out of you without anesthesia,” Barton quips before Natasha can elbow him in the ribs. She bends over to whisper in Barton’s ear and birdman colors red.

“Been there, done that, completely understand how you don’t want to ever do it again,” Tony says with an easy, almost forgiving air. He doesn’t forgive anyone, ever. Not for stupidity, anyway. Tony ignores the little argument going on in the corner of the room between the two agents and turns his attention to Steve. “You want some coffee? Water?”

“Tony, no, I’m fine.”

Barton snorts something, but again Natasha glares at him and, by the flinch, obviously kicks his leg under the table. This just sets off alarm bells in Tony’s head. “Cap? Steve? Is it worse than it looked?”

Steve waves him off and says, “It isn’t a big deal, now shut it, Clint.” 

Tony thinks it is completely unfair that Steve pulls out his Captain America voice and quells any uprising from the bird house. He doesn’t need Barton and his lack of decorum. He pulls out his phone and says, “I could just have JARVIS access your medical files.”

“That’s against HIPAA, Stark,” Natasha says.

“Rules? Set by Congress, yes, that is going to stop me. Oh yes, use that as a deterrent.”

“What exactly is a deterrent for your mouth, Stark?” Barton replies.

Tony cocks an eyebrow and says, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Freak.”

“Feather brain.”

“That’s enough,” Steve says as he sits up. “Is this a school yard? Just stop.”

Tony settles a degree but only because the slight movement by Steve ended with a serious drainage of color from his face. He reaches out and tentatively places a hand on Steve’s uninjured shoulder. Steve doesn’t move away from the touch. Tony takes it as a good sign and ignores the possibility that it just might be too painful to actually physically discourage him. He’ll take what he can get at this point. He gives Steve a quick squeeze of support and then drops his hand again.

Fury walks in the door and stands a full minute, just gazing at them. His face remains impassive and slightly bored looking, so Tony is unsure whether this is a pissing contest or if he might be having a petit mal seizure or something. He goes to clear this throat when Fury begins to pace the room. It feels like Tony is in grade school again with a typically average teacher trying to intimidate him with that special look in his eyes (eye in this case). If Fury thinks he can cow Tony, he’s got another thing coming.

“What we know,” Fury starts. He states it more like What. We. Know. “An organization calling itself Hydra has surfaced over the course of the last two weeks. From our intelligence-.”

“Which there isn’t a lot of,” Tony mutters.

Fury scowls at him but continues, “This organization, or reincarnation of the secret science division from Germany in the 40s, may have its roots back then, but we could find no link or connection.”

“None?” Steve asks.

“We did a thorough search of the known participants of the Hydra organization. Most of the known members are dead or too infirm to actually be a lead on something like this.”

“Not so dead that they couldn’t attack Captain America in the lobby of his apartment building,” Natasha says. “We’ve seen stranger things, as far as coming back from the dead is concerned.”

“Technically, I never died,” Steve says. “And technically, I have no idea if Red Skull died.”

“Yes, that is one concern.” Fury folds his hands behind his back. “What is more of a concern is their expressed interest in Iron Man.”

Before Tony can protest, Steve faces him and says, “Yes, I told them what was said.”

“Traitor,” Tony replies, but it is half joking and he catches a glimpse of a spark – a challenge- in Steve’s eyes before he attends to Fury. It tightens something deep in Tony’s chest and shoots right down to his groin.

“From what we understand, this new incarnation of Hydra intends to assassinate Captain Rogers and wants Iron Man for some unknown reason.”

Steve leans forward and Tony sees the grimace before he’s able to steady his expression and neutralize it. “Why do you phrase it that way? Captain Rogers verses Captain America and Tony Stark verses Iron Man. How do you know which they are most concerned with?”

“Does it really matter, potato, potahto after all?” Barton asks

Steve frowns at the reference but Tony chimes in and backs him up. “He’s right. Find out if they are interested in killing Captain America or Steve Rogers, very different things.”

“Not as much as the idea that they are focused on Tony Stark rather than Iron Man or vice versa changes the ball game considerably,” Steve adds. 

“Hmm, why?” Tony raises an eyebrow at Steve.

“Yes, enlighten us, Captain Rogers.” The director waits.

“It’s the difference between wanting the suit and wanting the brain behind the suit.”

“Ha, but wanting Captain America dead is different from wanting to down Steve Rogers,” Tony counters. “Captain America is a symbol, while Steve Rogers holds the secret to the serum.” Tony raises a hand to ward off any protests. “Both technically have the serum, I know. But a symbolic gesture is one thing; an attempt to get Steve is entirely different.”

“Okay so we’ve established that both of our personas are valuable, one way or the other.”

“To just about anyone,” Natasha says. She lounges in her chair like she’s a cat about to fall asleep, but Tony knows better; he recognizes that she can be up and out of her chair and strangling him in two seconds flat, probably shorter if Barton would stop hanging over the table getting in her way.

“And this new Hydra organization, why target Tony?” Steve says. “I think that’s the real question. Not me, I have history and they just wanted to make a statement.”

“Sell yourself short, why don’t you?” 

Steve frowns but then adds, “This Hydra organization needs to be legitimized to increase its ranks, to become a major player on the world scene, maybe even within the nine realms. One of the best ways to do that would be to target Captain America and take me down.” He shrugs, yet it causes an almost unperceivable wince. “It seems reasonable that they’d try it. It also seems reasonable they’d target either Iron Man or Tony or both. With the suit, they have advanced weaponry and armor, with Tony they get that and more.”

Tony cocks an eyebrow and snickers, “Why thank you, Captain Rogers.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you.”

“Stark thinks that if someone spits in his general direction they’re fawning all over him.”

“Just because you don’t have a fan club, bird boy, doesn’t mean you have to get nasty over it.” 

“Do I really have to go over the kindergarten rules again, people?” Fury asks. 

The long dark drapes over the windows throw shadows across most of the front of the conference room. Fury stays within the least lit areas of the room and, briefly, Tony considers whether or not he might be a vampire, or a zombie. He likes the idea of zombie, a brain-eating zombie. He snickers a little under his breath and that just gets him the stink eye from Fury.

“Unfortunately, our analysts believe that we would have more time to figure out the strength and strategies of this new incarnation of Hydra.”

“I’d fire those analysts,” Tony states as he spins his phone around on the highly polished table. He notices Natasha raise a brow and nod. 

“Regardless, we’ve been warned, so we have to use this to our advantage,” Fury says. “I need to have both of you out of the limelight, away somewhere.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, we were away from the limelight, pretty much in butt fuck nowhere,” Tony replies. “Then you had to come in and mess everything up.”

“Really? As I recall it, Stark, you’d lost Captain America.”

“I can’t be lost, I’m not an inanimate object, like a Captain America action figure, you know,” Steve mutters. Tony startles just a bit because of the edge of sarcasm in his tone.

“He was finding himself,” Tony says with a nod and a wink at Steve, who just furrows his brows and scoffs a little at him.

“We’re transporting the both of you to a SHIELD safe house.”

“Um, no,” Tony says at the same time Steve barks out surprised laughter. Tony continues, “Benching your premier players?”

“Hey,” Barton says. 

“Face facts, Hawkman,” Tony replies. “There’s first string, and then there’s second string.”

Barton leans across the table and pulls down one of his lower eyelids and says, “Hawkeye, Hawk EYE.”

Natasha stands up, but just slides onto the table, perched with one leg dangling and the other bent underneath her. “I hope you are not, in any way, dear comrade, implying I might be second string?” She tilts her head and smiles. It is a deliciously evil smile, both set to entice and to warn. He wonders how she pulls it off, because he’s in between being very turned on and the absolute need to curl up and hide in the corner. 

“Are we finished?” Fury asks with a fist on the table. His whole body looks like it might vibrate with rage.

“I’m good to go,” Tony says.

“That’s good because you are going to a safe house.”

“I’m sorry, sir. But we’re Avengers, I’m the Captain of the team, and you want me to sit this one out. As Tony said, with all due respect to my very capable team mates, you do not bench half of your premier players when bases are loaded,” Steve says and his body language clearly indicates his intent to make a statement, to ensure he’s part of the mission. Yet Tony sees the subtle twinge of his shoulder as if as he moves forward someone yanks on his muscles and sinew.

“Right now, that is not the plan. The plan is to collect more intel-.”

“Of which you have a whopping nil amount now,” Tony comments, but Fury continues anyhow.

“We collect the intel, find out a little more about this situation, then bring you in.”

“Sir, once again I have to disagree. In order to flush out the information, you actually need Tony and me – at the very least me – as bait. The only way you are going to find out what their game is would be to have them make another move.” Steve looks at him, his expression earnest.

“Their next move could put civilians in the line of fire, Captain. A fact which I know you are aware of and would like to avoid,” Fury says. “We were lucky that none were hurt when they attempted their attack on you.”

Steve opens his mouth as if he might protest again, and he looks back at Tony for support. As Tony considers a new line of reasoning (or not reasoning, maybe trickery would be the best word for it when it comes to Fury and his cohorts), it occurs to him that if he goes along with the plan he would be stuck in a house with Steve. Alone. Okay, maybe not alone, but relatively alone. Steve would have to confront him; they could cross the distance between them and have fantastic make-up sex. Even thinking about it shoots a thrill south of the border.

“Okay, we’ll go,” Tony states just as Fury starts in on another lecture. 

He stops, clamps his mouth shut and glares at Tony. “What? Why?”

“Yes, why?” Steve says and the flush of red on his cheeks has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with anger.

“I’ve seen the error of my ways?” Tony opens his hands in surrender. “No, really, I have acreage not far, rural Pennsylvania. One of my foundations just purchased it.”

“No, we need something not connected to either one of you,” Fury says.

“They would have to know a lot about business to trace this back to me, at this point. This is a new acquisition, bought by a foundation that doesn’t have any public linkage to me,” Tony points out. They stare at him like pathetic little mice. “When you want to purchase property and you happen to have the name Tony Stark or a related foundation, what do you think happens to the price of the property?”

“Skyrockets, of course,” Natasha supplies.

Tony clicks his fingers and points to her. “Got it in one, knew I liked you for more than your strikingly good looks and the odd ability to kill people with your thighs.”

She huffs a little but she’s still smiling so Tony thinks he’ll walk out of the building with his balls intact. 

“Walt Disney did it when he purchased all that swamp land in Florida. Bought if for pennies on the dollar because no one knew what the heck he was up to, or that it was even him. Rich and famous people do it all the time,” Tony says with a shrug. “So I have the property, no one knows it’s mine, and it’s fairly secure.”

“And what were you planning to do with said property, Stark?”

Tony puts a finger to his mouth and quirks an eyebrow. “That’s for me to know and, well you and your many dubious analysts to find out.”

“So, if we designate this place as the safe house, you’ll go?” Fury asks.

Tony slings his arm around Steve’s shoulders, careful of his wound. “We’re already getting packed. Aren’t we, big fella?”

Shrugging him off, Steve shakes his head. “No, I don’t agree with this plan.”

“Sorry, Captain Rogers, your injury alone sidelines you. Even for you, it will take a bit of time for your fractured scapula to heal.” While Fury states this, he’s actually staring at Tony as if he could read his mind to see what he’s up to. Tony only sniggers internally, but then the reality of what Fury said sinks in.

“Christ, really?” Tony turns to look at Steve. “The bullet fractured your scapula?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve says. “I won’t even be laid up for more than a few days, week at the most.” 

“Well, that seals the deal for me,” Tony says. “Up and at ‘em Capsicle, I have to contact Pepper, arrange things.”

“Not so fast,” Fury says. “You aren’t going alone. Clint and Natasha have guard duty.”

“What? You have got to be kidding me?” Barton says. “Seriously, is this some kind of shitty punishment for the whole Loki thing?”

“No, I am not kidding you. And no, it isn’t punishment, but yes, it is.”

Steve grumbles as he tries to figure that one out, Tony just knocks his hand against his arm and says, “Spy double talk, ignore it.”

Natasha takes it with a lot more grace and dignity than Barton does. She stands and places her hands on the curve of her hips which are accentuated by that tiny waist. Shit, she’s hot. Tony blinks a few times to get his head back on straight. “Okay, Stark, where to?”

“We’ll get transportation ready for you. Be prepared to leave within the hour.” With that pronouncement, Fury stalks out of the briefing room. 

Standing, Tony claps his hands together and says, “Well, I’ve got some calls to make to get the place ready-.”

Before he finishes his thought, Steve jumps to his feet and spins to face him. “What the hell was that?” 

Tony hears Barton sputtering about Captain America and swearing and rolls his eyes in exasperation. The spy has a lot to learn. 

“We’re Avengers, Tony. We don’t sit on the sidelines. We don’t hide, we fight,” Steve says.  
“Not this time, Cap,” Tony says with a wink.

Unfortunately, the response he receives is not the one he’s hoping for. Instead, Steve stares down at him with the same superior arrogance he’d worn as a badge when they had their confrontation on the Helicarrier, except this time there’s no Loki to contort their minds. 

“This was not your decision to make,” Steve says through clenched teeth. He doesn’t give Tony a chance to reply; he turns on his heel and disappears out the door.

“I see things are still right with the world,” Natasha chimes in.

Tony bites back his retort because he likes this balls right where they are, not used as a noose around his throat.

 

*oOo*  
Transportation ends up being a large SUV, a Caddy Escalade which is nice for its V6 engine and maneuverability, but it lacks the style of his Mercedes Benz GL-class SUV. Barton gets to drive and Natasha settles into shotgun, which Tony decides is fine with him. It means he sits in the second row seats with Steve. He hadn’t truly appreciated Steve’s injury until the soldier slides into the bucket seat behind the driver and grunts a little in response to some unknown protest of his body. Stretching the gap between them, Tony reaches to steady Steve, but in response he only receives a dark look with lidded eyes. 

He backs away but decides not to be intimidated so easily by a cranky Captain America. He does the only thing that comes to mind in order to soften the Captain to his presence. “Not as nice as my sweet ride, right?” He pounds the armrest of his chair and says, “Gotta say the Escalade is nice for its mpg, though not any better than the Benz. Doesn’t have the limited slip rear differential though, and sucks at just plain looks. Then again, we can’t all be superstars, can we, Steve?”

For a moment, he thinks he’s actually touched a nerve and peeled back part of the covering Steve’s hiding beneath, but it fades and Steve’s in control again. Somehow this leads Tony to feeling wasted, horrible, and disheartened. Memories, images of Steve falling apart beneath Tony’s hands, the shattering of that self-control, the release of the pent up rage or energy or fear –whatever the hell that’s holding Steve hostage – had been life changing for Tony. He’d never witnessed Steve so relaxed and at ease with himself until that night, their one night together. Now, he’s lost it all again. He’s wound tight, and closed, and knotted as if every muscle fiber in his body has been twisted and contorted. 

Steve only nods his head in assent as Barton shifts the vehicle into gear and they start their trek. It won’t take more than five hours to get to the designated safe house, even with the afternoon New York traffic. They were considerably delayed though, because Steve and Fury were locked in the director’s office for an hour with only the occasional screamed curse word issuing from behind the door. Tony’s proud to say Steve threw in a few of his own insults and swears as well, proves he was part of this man’s army.

As they maneuver through the streams of cars and trucks, Tony regards the good Captain. Steve looks away from him, but when Tony angles his body forward he can see that Steve has his eyes closed, but there’s a tension about his lips and eyes. Though as the drive lengthens, the tightness softens and he appears relaxed, it is then Tony realizes Steve has finally fallen into slumber. 

“So, what is this place you recently bought? A secret sex get away? I heard there’s a lot of adult stores in rural PA,” Barton says over the chirping of the GPS.

“Nope,” Tony says. “Just a new project, that’s all. Something I’ve been considering with the arc reactor in play and all.”

“You’re going to do tests out in rural Pennsylvania? Is it dangerous?” Natasha asks.

Tony claps his hands together and says, “Never said tests. Just something that’s been niggling at the back of my brain for a while. So, can we dispense with the small talk and maybe just have some quiet time?”

Barton shrugs his shoulders and lays his wrist on the top of the steering wheel. Natasha turns back to the road ahead of them, plugs in her earpieces, and goes back to listening to her music. When Tony looks around, studies Steve for a moment and remembers the long draw of Steve’s finger in his mouth when he ate the Cheetos, he has the feeling of complete loss. This little outing is so different than their first. He hates it a little more, but tries to remember it is for a good cause. 

Getting Steve back in his arms.

*oOo*  
Somewhere along the way, Tony forgets that they have to stop so that big boy can eat. Steve begs off, telling them it isn’t necessary but he’s getting paler and more ghost-like by the minute, so they all decide how hungry they are and stop at a steakhouse. Barton’s worried about people seeing them and identifying them, so they sit in the parking lot while Natasha orders for them. She walks into the restaurant and carries the bags out with her. The smell of grilled steak, fries, and roasted veggies hits him and he admits he’s hungry.

In deference to Barton, they park the SUV and consume their food. Natasha produces several knives and Tony tries not to think about how they were probably in her shoes. Steve has the hardest time, since he’s doing everything single handed. Without a word, Tony takes his plate, cuts the large prime rib, and serves it back to the Captain. The smile Steve offers him is somewhat private and special but fades too quickly and Steve looks away. It’s almost as if Steve keeps forgetting to be angry at Tony. This silent fact puts a smile on Tony’s face as he hands Steve the last of his dessert.

“Anything to drink, Cap?”

“There’s water?”

Tony accepts the bottle Natasha passes to the back seats, untwists it, and slips it into the cup holder attached to Steve’s seat.

“Thanks,” Steve murmurs.

“Anything, just ask,” Tony whispers, and for once, he watches as Steve closes his eyes as if to stop himself from enjoying the moment. 

Barton fires up the engine like it’s a quinjet and he’s about to fly into Hell’s mouth. “Let’s get this show on the road.” 

Tony and Natasha are still gathering up the garbage when he squeals out of the parking lot and rolls the SUV along the curve of the street. The jostle sends them all careening toward the left side of the vehicle and Tony hears the grunt of Steve as he hits against the door. Leaning forward, Tony knocks Barton in the head and says, “Christ, watch it, will you?”

Clint’s about to protest, when he catches Tony in the rear view mirror checking to see if Steve is okay. Steve waves him off and just mumbles something to the effect of don’t do that again, Clint. Tony wants to sock bird brain in the head again, but he settles down when Natasha puts up a hand to ward him off. Seems the wonder twins are protective of one another.

It takes little more than an hour for them to get to their destination. When they enter the gates of the property after Tony gives Barton his card to swipe through the security, Barton whistles and says, “What the hell is this place?”

“Old ski resort was big in the days of the Rat Pack.” Tony ducks down to see out of the windscreen. “Up ahead and to the right, there are several condos and the main lodge. We’ll stay in the condos. They were recently updated with all the amenities; I suppose the seller thought it might entice a better price.” Tony snickers. “It did not.”

“How big is the place?”

“Acreage wise close to a hundred or so acres in prime property. Not a bad place to set up camp,” Tony comments. “I installed the security measures, first, of course. There’s gates, video, audio, and satellite surveillance. The vast majority of the property is gated.”

“A hundred acres?” Barton whistles again.

“What? The Great Wall is thousands of miles long,” Tony says. “I like security and privacy.”

“What the hell do you plan to do with the place? Build an army of Iron Men?” 

He frowns at Barton, but that’s not such an out there idea so he lets it lie. “I have my plans.” He continues with the most important information, though. “The management company freshened up the rooms, but has been told not to make another appearance.”

“SHIELD will provide anything we need or require,” Natasha says.

“So lovely,” Tony mutters and points to the drive toward the newest condos. “Pull up here. These were just built in the 90s and remodeled last year. So, we’ll stay here.”

Barton glides the vehicle to a stop in front of the two and three story condominiums. Each of the large apartments has a balcony with sliding glass doors. It isn’t the house on the lake, but at least these have a view of the rolling mountains and a quiet setting. He turns to see Steve’s fallen asleep again. He doesn’t want to wake him, but he touches his arm and says, “Hey, sleeping beauty, time to rise and shine.”

Steve wakes in fits and startles a bit when he looks at Tony. It takes a good twenty or so seconds before he’s acclimated, and Tony swears he witnesses him go through stages of his life like he’s reliving who he was, where he was, who he is now, and where he is now. Tony cannot deny, it’s kind of terrifying. He hums a little under his breath which brings a smile to Tony’s lips in spite of it all. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry drifted off for a minute there.” Steve yanks at the sling and pulls it off over his head.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to keep that on for a few days?” 

“It’ll be fine, starting to feel tight so it should be well on its way to healing,” Steve says but still reaches around with the other hand to open his door. It occurs to Tony that Captain America didn’t wear his seat belt during the entire trip. Not perfect after all.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Barton open the hatch of the cargo and unload the luggage as well as the Captain’s shield. Tony does not allow them to touch the case with the suit. “Phones?” he asks as he rounds the vehicle.

“Yeah, what about ‘em.”

“Get them out and download the app, unlock.” Neither of them do anything. “It’s the only way you’re getting into your condos, but hell if you want to sleep outside with the bears, I’m okay with that.”

As Natasha rolls her eyes, she retrieves her phone from her bag and searches for the application. Barton already has his gripped in his hand and has the download started. Steve appears and watches them. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it, handsome, I got yours.” Barton looks up from his screen with a raised eyebrow. “Mind your own Ps and Qs, Barton.”

It strikes Tony a bit strange that Barton only shares a brief look at Natasha who is still working on her phone, before he goes back to the application.

“Register and sign in,” Tony says. “You’ll find each of your accounts have a secure interface which will link you to the code to open your rooms.” Tony indicates the upper levels of the closest building. “Punch it in the keypad. It’ll change every time you leave your room, so keep your phone with you.”

“Neat,” Barton says.

“Yeah, I invented it about the same time Loki was dancing in your brain.”

“Nice,” Barton says with more edge to it. He grabs his bags and pulls his bow out of the back of the SUV. Slipping it over his shoulder, he nods to them and sets off. Natasha twists her mouth once like she’s contemplating hitting him, but stops herself and slings her backpack onto her shoulder. 

“I’m taking the corner condo, Hawk,” she calls and jogs up to him as they take the stairs.

“We have the condo on the other side,” Tony says and starts to pile up the luggage; he’s not sure he can handle it all in one trip and with his bum shoulder, Steve isn’t up to helping. Where’s Thor when you need him? 

“We?” Steve asks. “I’d rather have my own room.”

Tony bites back a reply and says, “You will. We’ll just be sharing living space. Don’t worry; your virtue is safe with me.”

Steve stands there considering Tony for a full minute, before he moves to pick up the shield. With his right hand, he slides it over his left shoulder. It hurts, even Tony can tell but he stifles any reaction and picks up his bag from the pile.

“Don’t-.”

“I can carry my own bag, as long as I don’t have to carry it for a long time,” Steve motions to the condo. “So, can we?”

Tony gestures to the left where a solitary two- story building nestles in a circle of trees. “Right over this way.” He’ll have to make two trips but he doesn’t mind because Steve isn’t protesting the idea of sharing a place with him. He considers this an improvement.

Steve trudges up the stairs to the second floor level of the building with Tony trailing behind him. He’s a bit regretful when he climbs the stairs, knowing full well that the stress will be painful on Steve’s shoulder. The soldier doesn’t say a word, but isn’t that like him? Good fucking soldier all the fucking time. He stops at the door and waits, leaning against the railing and looking out across the panoramic view of the mountains. These aren’t the mountains of the west with their rock sliced faces, and jagged snowcapped peaks; these are rolling hills and soft undulating crests. It’s recently snowed, so the defunct ski runs are covered with a fresh layer of powder. It is pretty against the pine trees and the occasional bare deciduous trees. Tony turns back to the lock and inputs the code as dictated by the phone; the door unlocks. He supposes he could have the doors all thumb printed or iris scan enabled, but this was a quick and dirty way to get the condos up to speed a while back. He swings open the door and waits for Steve to step inside.

“I haven’t stayed here for any length of time, just yet.” Tony lets the door slam shut behind him when he takes his second trip up and drags the last of his bags from the outside. “I started the renovation downstairs, but up here it is pretty much the same as it was except for a few modifications.”

“Surprised SHIELD let us come here, that we didn’t have an entire entourage of people following us,” Steve says as he drops his bags including the one with the shield to the floor.

“Don’t be surprised, but we probably were followed and they’ve probably populated these woods with a good number of their agents. We are surrounded and very much not alone.” Tony says as he pulls out several of his computer interfaces. He connects them up as he speaks. “This place is probably already bugged to the gills.”

“Bugged?”

“Surveillance, my friend, all kinds of it,” Tony says and flicks on a bank of his consoles. He has to wait for most of the non-mobile equipment until he has the workshop completed downstairs, but this small command station will be enough for now. “But don’t worry Boy Scout, I’ll have them cleaned and swept away in minutes.” He busies himself at the computers he’s scattered across the dining room table. While he works, Steve ambles around the large open space. He walks into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator.

“It’s stocked,” Steve observes

“Fully loaded,” Tony says and smiles. He taps his temple and adds, “Thinking ahead and planning.”

“You know this isn’t going to work,” Steve closes the door and leans against the breakfast bar that separates the sunken living room from the kitchen area. 

“JARVIS tell me like it is?” Tony says only half listening to Steve.

“They are devices using cellular protocols, sir. Fairly easy to map and lock on. Not as elegant as radio, sir.”

“A bit of a snob aren’t we?” Tony clicks a few keys and says, “JARVIS commence protocol five dash one dash three.” With that he knows JARVIS has used a clean signal to wipe out the cellular signals and will continue to disrupt them with oscillating signals throughout their stay.

He just has to make sure and confirm the video has been taken out as well. 

Turning back to Steve, he says, “We’re clean. What were you saying?”

Steve rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, where’s my room?”

“We could share,” Tony says.

Steve clamps his mouth shut and waits.

Pointing, he says, “Behind the living room, there’s the second bedroom. Has a nice view of the woods.”

“Thanks.”

He disappears and Tony’s left feeling as if he’s just condemned a puppy to be chained to a tree for the next week. Inwardly, he curses Fury. This better work or else he might have to place a virus in SHIELD’s systems and reduce all of their fonts to 6 point.

*oOo*  
For the next two days, Steve only comes out of his room to eat and work out. He grunts at Tony’s pitiful and somewhat sorry attempts at reconciliation. By the third day, Tony finishes setting up his home away from home so that he can at least interact with JARVIS without always having to contact him through the direct interface on the computer or phone. It is a jerry rigged set up, but it’s good enough. 

Once SHIELD realized Tony neutralized all their surveillance devices, Fury called and glowered at him. He stopped when Tony pointed out it took a day and a half for SHIELD to recognize something was up with their system. Fury signed off in a huff. After that, Barton and Natasha started to show up at weird times to check on them, but overall they kept to themselves and Tony watched as they went on hikes and even tried out the ski lifts that Tony had put back into service for them. He has no idea where they found the ski equipment, probably some old shit from the lodge. He’s surprised they haven’t broken their necks on those skis.

Tony actually wonders how long one man can sulk. It occurs to him then that Steve doesn’t have the illustrations on the walls anymore. He’s in that room, that strange room staring at art work from the nearest home decorating store. He’s surrounded by modern day crap and he’s building walls of it around himself. He refuses to worry; the man is being an idiot. 

By evening of the third day, Tony decides he’s going to pack it in and go back to New York City. The only reason he agreed to this little charade was to be close to Steve and to fix their relationship. Sitting, and waiting for the door to open up and Steve to be willing to talk is not Tony’s idea of fun. He’s about to go raving mad. 

He spends the evening in the empty first floor. The plasterboard walls are stripped bare and most of the walls except for the load bearing ones have been removed. There’s a pile of tools to the one side and he finds two large mallets. Without thought he picks one up and smashes it against the wall. The board gives easily and he punches through on the first swing. He hits again and plaster sprinkles into air, again and the plaster peppers his face and falls in a cascade of pebbles to the floor. There are several holes in the walls, now and he grins. Gripping the mallet with two hands, he slams it against the wall. It shudders under his hands. He laughs.

Taking the hammer and spinning it around, he pretends it’s Mjolnir and it flies to the wall and impacts with an explosion of dust and rocks.

“What? What are you doing?” Steve says. He’s perched in the doorway, staring at Tony like he’s lost his mind.

“Remodeling, why are you out of your room? Shouldn’t you be writing poetry about death and little creepy children or something?”

“What?”

Even Tony doesn’t know where that one came from, but he’s pissed and he’s tired because – god- he’s slept too much in the last few days and hasn’t jerked off enough. He says, “Just go away.”

Tony whips the hammer at the wall and he vibrates with the force so much it hurts his teeth. 

“I’m not certain any of this is safe,” Steve says and steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “What are you making it into?”

“Ha,” Tony says and suddenly wishes he had a glass of bourbon or something. He settles for tapping the hammer head against the wall a few times with a gentle motion. “That’s funny, really, I cannot believe how funny you can be, Steve. You making small talk, with _me_ ,someone so beneath you.”

“Tony.”

“You want to know what I’m doing?” Tony doesn’t allow him to answer because he’s pissed and disgusted and just plain too lonely not to lash out. “The devil’s workshop. I figured it would be apropos, you know.”

Steve chews on his lip like he’s eating nails or something. Tony swears he sees a bit of red, a small droplet before Steve turns his head in profile like he always does when he doesn’t want Tony to read his expression. When he turns back his eyes are ablaze.

“You can’t be angry at me, Tony. I didn’t lie to you; I didn’t conceal my true intention to you. Everything, everything we did together, what I said to you was the truth. So don’t give me your damned little _Tony’s hurt, Tony feels_ act.”

Tony stutters for a full count of ten. He’s not sure if he’s angrier at the fact that Steve just implied Tony lied or that he accused Tony of having ‘acts’ – two of them, a hurt act and a feels act. What the fuck?

And that is exactly what he says, “What the fuck?”

“Yes, let’s lower ourselves to crude remarks instead of having a clear and straightforward conversation, but, oh I forgot that’s old fashioned. What we do today is just spit out sarcastic remarks and then play on our smartphones and ignore each other,” Steve stays cool, collected, and says each word through clenched teeth.

“Crude? What?” Tony scratches at his forehead, finds a smear of dust and particles there, and brushes it off. “You’ve done a great job in stumping the genius. So, could you now explain to the genius just what the fu-. Excuse me, what you are talking about?”

“I’m not even sure what you’re talking about, or what we’re doing here.” Steve throws up his hands and stalks out of the unfinished and now further demolished first floor. 

At that moment, Tony decides he’s had enough and races after Steve slamming doors along the way. He confronts Steve in the middle of the open space of the living room. “No. No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to throw accusations around like you did the last time and not listen to me, or to reason.”

Steve whips around and the expression etched on his face chills Tony to the bone. The anger and betrayal aren’t just lurking, they’re making a full-fledged appearance. “I don’t have to listen to you. I’m tired of people deciding what’s good for the little lost boy from yesterday. I grew up during one of the hardest times this country has ever seen, my parents died before I was eighteen, and I ended up in an orphanage. I fought bullies long before I joined the army and, say what you will about it, I could handle myself. By the time I was eighteen I was working, feeding myself, clothing myself. 

“We didn’t complain if we didn’t have the latest and greatest things in those days. We made do, and I did. I’m an adult and I can take care of myself. I am not a porcelain doll people have to watch over. I don’t know why you agreed to this little charade. You’re not the team leader, I am, and it should have been my call.” He stops but Tony can see his chest rattling with the need to go on. “I watched my buddies get blown to pieces; I watched my best friend fall off the side of the mountain. We gave all of ourselves. You want to know why I signed up for that experiment?”

“So, you could stay in the army?” Tony whispers.

“Yeah, that’s what everybody thinks. But it was more than that, it was the fact that we signed up for a war we knew we weren’t coming back from. I _had_ to do my part. Every one of those soldiers I read about, those nameless soldiers that hit the beaches, they were heroes. I was just a kid from Brooklyn who wanted to do my part. I still am, but no one will let me, not even you. You, of all people.”

Tony swallows hard and inhales to try and steady himself. “What do you mean, ‘you, of all people’?”

“When you came back from Afghanistan,” Steve starts. “I’ve seen all the news re-, footage, videos, whatever. I’ve seen it all and read it all. You wanted to change, you did. You didn’t listen to what everyone expected of you, you surprised them and continued. You made a different path and you decided. You didn’t let them treat you like a breakable.” He takes a long breath. “Everyone treats me like I’m going to break. I fought Nazis, and Hydra, and aliens from outer space, and still I haven’t proven my worth.”

For a long stretch of time, Tony remains silent. Thoughts collide in his brain and he’s processing everything, every word and motion of the last minutes, over the last weeks. Words tumble out of his mouth before he’s ready, but that’s characteristic of him. “I don’t think you’re going to break.”

“Then what are we doing here? You agreed with Fury. Take us out of the field; take me out of the field.” Steve laces his hands behind his neck and his muscles bunch up against the fabric of his t-shirt. The motion itself doesn’t cause a flinch at all, so obviously his injury is very nearly healed.

Tony laughs a little at Steve’s conclusion. “No, I didn’t want to take either of us out of the field.” He crosses the slight distance between the two of them, grabbing Steve’s arm and dragging it down. He settles them both on a large sofa, but continues to hold Steve’s hand. Something warm spreads out in his belly when Steve doesn’t immediately pull away. “I wanted to have some time alone with you. To figure this out.” He points to Steve then to him. “Listen, crap, I’m not good at this shit. Ask Pepper, damn ask Happy. I am not good at relationships, but I’ve been trying to be.”

“I’m not sure we have a relationship.”

That stops the warmth and Tony inwardly winces. “Okay, then the start of one or something? I want to have a relationship with you.”

Steve begins to pull his hand away but Tony holds tight. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can and you know why, because I am going for full disclosure here,” Tony says and knows he might live to regret these words even if Captain America doesn’t grind him up and spit him out.

“Full disclosure?”

“Yep, anything you want to know, but you don’t get to get angry right away. And,” Tony pauses and adds, “you have to allow me to finish.”

Steve looks at the blackened fireplace and nods without turning back to Tony. He could push it and force him to vocalize his promise, but Tony thinks that might go a bit too far in the goading department.

“Okay, then, here goes. You’re right, Fury asked me to watch you.”

“Okay,” Steve says and doesn’t react.

“I said no, he said yes.”

“And?” Steve asks because he knows there’s more, and Tony promised full disclosure. Tony doesn’t want to actually go and tread these waters, but he said he would. What kind of relationship would this be, built on empty promises, and lies, and half-truths? 

He bows his heads for a second, then looks up at Steve, and, in a long stream of information, says in one breath, “Okay, here goes, Fury asked me to watch you. I said no, big strong man can watch himself. Fury insinuated that no, you could not. There were issues, processing issues of man out of time.” He uses air quotes here, but doesn’t pause or stop. “He implied that the psychologists or head shrinks or whatever have determined you not only are not fit for duty but especially not fit to lead the team. So, I said I would watch you and prove them wrong.”

Steve slumps back into the cushions of the sofa, he looks like a lost little boy momentarily, and then he turns his face away to hide his emotions. “Not fit.”

“But-.”

“Not fit for duty,” he says and turns back to Tony. His expression is a ruin of emotions, desperate and lost and pained. It is all he is, this soldier, this leader of all things good, and now some asswipes are taking it away. “Not fit to lead.” His voice sounds choked.

“Listen to me, listen-.”

“What the -?” He stops. “Didn’t they see what we did in New York?”

“Yes, they did, but-.”

“But?”

“You promised not to interrupt.”

Steve raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’ll let you say it all. Might as well get it all out at once. Hurts less that way.”

Tony bites back his response because he really wants to hit him upside the head right now. He is not the enemy, he wants to scream in Steve’s face, and he’s fairly certain that Fury is probably not the enemy either. There’s just a lot of shit going on and people to deal with, and Steve’s never dealt with the hell of modern day red tape before.

“Okay, then,” Tony takes another deep breath (as deep as he can considering his decreased lung capacity and all that jazz). “Fury did come to me and express some of the concerns, I’m still not one hundred percent bought into the fact that they were Fury’s concerns. Maybe just the doctors’, maybe the Council’s. He told me you might come seek me out, so that you could fly off the radar.”

Steve nods, but keeps diligently silent and still. It kind of creeps Tony out, just a tad.

“Anyhow, I eventually agreed. I didn’t want to do it to prove you weren’t fit for duty, but to show those fuckers – and there’s no other word for it – that there’s no one better and more fit to lead that you. That I’m sure that none of the other members of our little club, the Avengers, are going to follow anyone else they throw at us. You’re it Grandpa, and I wanted to prove that to them.”

Once Tony falls off, he wants to add more, but he knows he’s just rambling and mumbling on about it now. His mind has a lot more to say, words are smashing about in his skull and he wants to say them, to explain, then tear apart the problem for Steve, _show_ how right Tony is, _demonstrate_ how right Tony is – okay that one gets a little more into the weeds of rolling around and getting naked…

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve interrupts Tony’s thoughts, his voice is tight and controlled.

“I don’t- I have -.” Tony quiets his brain, or as much as he’s able, and begins again. “I didn’t tell you, I don’t know, I kept telling myself I should, but I didn’t. Then it just escaped me and you were there and you were in my arms and, Christ, then you were gone.” It is Tony’s turn to look away and he focuses on the kitchen, the shine from the polished granite counter top. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Tony snaps back to attention. “That’s all?”

Steve stands and brushes at his jeans, and then inches around the coffee table to move around the sofa. “I’m going for a run.” He peers out the windows. “You know now they follow me everywhere. Even when I run here. They don’t even try to hide it.”

“I think that’s more of a safety issue.”

“Yeah,” he says in a low voice. He stands there with his back to the window and the snow covered landscape. “Let me have a little time to think, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, thinking is good, always good,” Tony says.

Steve disappears around the corner but comes back a minute later with sweats and a hoodie on. He goes to the door but halts before he leaves. “By the way, what were you doing down there?”

“First stage.”

“First stage?”

“Of changing this place.”

“Changing it into what?”

Tony offers Steve a crooked smile and says, “If you’re game tomorrow, I’ll show you.”

Steve pauses for a moment, licks his lips once, and then nods before he opens the door and is gone. Something low and heavy hitches in Tony and he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the story thus far.


	3. Combat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, what to say - this is it - Tony and Steve find each other again. That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again a big hoorah to rabidchild67 for her beta. She did a fabulous job and even helped add a section here. So kudos to her!
> 
> Warnings in effect include impact play and strikes to the groin area.

CHAPTER 3  
By the next day, Tony’s nerves jump and skitter around like a million insects crawling over his skin. He pops out of the first floor around 4 a.m. covered in dust and dirt and goes to shower. He scrubs himself over and he’s half hard thinking about Steve and the possibilities. He recalls the theory of chaos and how humans’ whole existence is about controlling that chaos. He’s never been good at controlling himself and telling himself what he can and cannot have. When he couldn’t have something in the past, he just bought it or created it himself. 

He can’t do that – not with a person and, especially not with Steve.

They need one another; Steve with his overly controlled and tight attitude, and Tony with his chaotic and frenzied outlook. They are paired in so many ways. He finishes cleaning up and towels dry, trying to ignore his dick, but really not succeeding. 

“Christ, man, get a grip,” he murmurs and then sniggers a little. Yep, that is what he wants to do, get a grip. But he doesn’t want to expend his energy until he has Steve under his hands. A flash of Steve under him begging to be pulled apart, remade, coils in Tony’s belly until he has to grab his dick and bend over not to come. “I am fucking doomed.”

He decides it might be a good idea to get an hour or so of sleep so he looks a little more alive and not quite as zombie-like. He doesn’t want to start craving Steve’s brain - his dick is enough, thank you very much. He giggles at that and realizes he is over tired. Walking back into the bedroom from the en suite bathroom, he pulls out some boxers from the drawer and tugs them on. He hunts around on the dresser for his phone, sets the alarm, and then looks out the window at several agents leaning against the car. 

“Crappers, they aren’t even trying to hide anymore.” Tony shrugs and throws himself on the bed. His bedroom is the largest in the condo, but it is still small in comparison to what he has in other residences. This room has a large king-sized bed, a walk-in/dressing closet, and a small area near the stone fireplace to lounge and read. 

As he stretches out on the bed, Tony stares up at the skylight and watches the flicker of his arc reactor. In minutes he’s asleep. The next thing he knows, he hears a knock on the door. He rolls over and tells the person to go away.

“Tony?” 

Tony opens an eye and sees Steve hanging at the door. What the hell is he doing here?

“I wanted to know about – if we- I wanted to know if you were still going to show me around?” He finally spits out.

Tony sits up and rubs a hand over his face. The sun is far over the tree line and the distant hills. “Crap, what the hell time is it?”

“A little after eleven.”

“Shit, that is not what I planned,” he grumbles and curses his phone. He examines it and decides it is defective. “Need to fix this piece of shit. Give me five.”

“Want something to eat?” Steve asks and he looks eager like he wants to please Tony; this just sets his pants on fire again.

“Sure, um, anything. Nothing big,” he yells after Steve disappears. 

The day is fucking half over. He rummages through his drawers and takes out a sweatshirt and jeans. He has them on in seconds, realizes he probably needs socks, too. Can’t find any clean ones and curses because, hell if he’s doing his own fucking laundry. If SHIELD won’t let him have a service here, then their agents will have to do it. He considers the repercussions of asking Natasha to wash his undershorts and blanches. Okay, maybe he needs to think about learning how to do the laundry. He digs around in the bathroom and finds some matching socks in the pile. He sniffs them (not bad), puts them on, and hopes he doesn’t grow fungus between his toes. He does a quick rinse of his teeth and runs water through his hair with his fingers to get it to stop looking like he’s a demented peacock.

In a little less than five minutes, he wanders out into the kitchen and finds a plate of scrambled eggs and ham sitting on the breakfast bar waiting for him. 

“I said nothing big,” Tony says as he slides onto the stool. There are only three stools at the bar and there’s not much more room in the cramped kitchen to actually entertain or eat.

“Don’t be stupid. You haven’t eaten anything substantial in days.”

“I have so,” Tony says and points to the refrigerator. “I think I ate an apple or something out of the drawer.”

“One apple, some yogurt, two sticks of cheese, one sandwich I left for you, and three chocolate bars,” Steve says. “I have an eidetic memory, remember? Looked in the refrigerator the first day, know everything that’s in there and in the cupboards.”

“Curse your serum-enhanced brain,” Tony says and tucks into the meal. Before he’s aware of it, he chewing on some toast that Steve places next to the plate and drinking down the coffee to finish up the meal. 

“Yeah, not hungry,” Steve snickers and takes his empty plate away. 

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah, finished two hours ago,” Steve says and places the plate in the sink with the pans.

“Don’t clean those,” Tony says. “Let’s go for a drive.”

Steve crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. “Are we really going to do this?”

Tony cocks an eyebrow and says, “Yes, babe, we really are.” He waits to see what Steve’s reaction will be to his blatant flirtation. This will make or break them, this simple gesture.

Steve shuts his eyes and bows his head to shade his expression from Tony. When he does look up his cheeks are hot and red and his eyes are wide and dark. His words are whispered, “Good, I’m glad.”

Tony closes the distance between them that cannot be more than three feet but feels like the fucking great divide. His hands are on Steve's face, cupping his jaw, pulling him down and toward Tony. For only a second there is a slight hesitation, a resistance, but it melts away as Tony touches his lips to Steve’s mouth. Steve falls into the kiss, his hands slide up against Tony at his waist, and then up to clasp his arms. He doesn’t struggle or battle anymore; he opens his mouth and invites Tony in. Tony slips his hand to the back of Steve’s neck, holding him, keeping him there. Steve gasps and a shudder riles through him when Tony grasps his hair, tugging on it lightly.

Steve breaks it off, and says, “Tell me, tell me we can do this here?”

Tony holds his face in his hands and stares into those wide eyes, eager eyes. “We can, I told you everything is safe here.”

Steve pauses and then says, “I want to-. I want.” He closes his eyes and turns away again. “I want you to-.”

Tony interrupts him because if he doesn’t he’ll explode right now, right here, in his pants like a god damned teenager. In the firmest voice he can muster, he says, “Go to my bedroom, draw the blinds, take off your clothes, and kneel by the lounger.” He stops himself from biting his lower lip, not knowing if Steve will listen. Is this what Steve wants? Has he read him right?

When Steve doesn’t even question, just turns around and walks to the bedroom without a sound, Tony nearly drops over from the blood all pooling to his dick. He rubs his face and scrubs his hands through his hair. “Jesus fucking Christ, Stark, get a grip. What the hell do I need?” He searches around the kitchen and pulls out some supplies from drawers and cabinets. Once he’s done, he takes a few heavy breaths, and invites himself back into his bedroom, and back into the world being right again.

*oOo*  
Tony enters his bedroom and sees a neat pile of Steve’s clothes on the dresser. Each has been folded. The curtains are drawn and the lights aren’t on. He turns the dimmer switch to bathe the room in a soft glow. He waits a minute before he turns and when he does his breath catches in his throat. 

Steve kneels by the lounger near the small stone fire place. His face is in profile, it is one of his tells that Tony has learned, a mannerism that telegraphs to Tony his need to hide or conceal or his embarrassment at the situation. Tony places all the supplies on the dresser next to Steve’s clothes. He opens up the drawer and digs through his small bag to find condoms and lube. He keeps his eyes on Steve’s face, not lowering his gaze to his hard cock, not yet, not so soon.

He walks over and places the lube and condoms on the lounger and then kneels in front of Steve. The lounger doesn’t have arm rests and reminds Tony of the chaise lounges from the Victorian age, all sculpted and not comfortable. Yet, now he can imagine just how useful it can be.

Lightly, he brings down Steve’s head and kisses him on the forehead. “We need to take this slow, if we’re going to do this.”

Steve swallows and nods.

“I need you to voice things, Steve, not stay mute unless that’s part of what you need.”

“I do, I want to not talk, sometimes.”

Tony arches a brow – interesting. “Okay, we’ll work with that. But what we need to do is for you to have a safe word. Something that you would say if I do something you don’t like.”

“I can’t imagine-.”

“Do you want me to shit on you?”

Steve hisses. “No, of course not-.”

Tony doesn’t let him finish. “Everyone has different kinks, even people with the most vanilla sex lives have kinks; they’re just unimaginative. So, if you don’t want me to do something and I start to do it, you need a way out.”

Steve swallows down hard and says, “Do you want to shit on me?”

“No, not really.”

“Okay. I could just say no,” Steve says and Tony can tell he’s physically uncomfortable with this conversation. So Tony does the only thing he can think of, he grabs Steve’s half hard cock and twists it. “Na-.” Steve bends toward him and moans a bit but he doesn’t say stop. 

“Sometimes you might say no, but not mean it.” 

Steve reaches out and clutches onto Tony’s shoulder with one hand. “Please.”

“Please what?” Tony says.

There’s a moment when Tony thinks Steve might do the full body shudder again, but he controls it, and only murmurs, “More.”

“You want a little cock-teasing? A little torture?” He squeezes and Steve fights to stop the convulsion of his body into the fierce tug on his erection.

“Okay then,” Tony says and releases Steve. “Safe word.”

Steve pants for a full minute before he’s able to balance out his breathing and finally says, “Okay, hmm, I don’t know-.”

“Kind of caught you off guard?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says and looks around like he might be looking for some inspiration.

“Something that will jolt us out of the moment and bring us back to us, just Tony and Steve, not dominant and submissive.”

“Okay,” Steve says and suggests, “Parlor.”

“Parlor? Really, where the hell did you get that one?”

“It’s what we used to call the living room in my day. We called it the parlor.” Steve shrugs.

“Well, it’s so weird, it should work. You won’t forget it, right?” Tony asks as he releases Steve, then gets to his feet, and unbuckles his pants. He lets them slide down with his boxers as he tugs off his shirt. He kicks his clothes aside. 

As he walks around, Steve turns and Tony just places a hand on his head to still him. He gets down and examines Steve’s back, eyes the little pucker of skin that hints at where the bullet hit him.

“You do heal amazingly fast,” Tony says as he outlines what’s left of the scar with his finger. “Will it scar at all?”

“It shouldn’t. Things like bullet holes don’t, although I’m not sure what would,” Steve says. 

The statement stops Tony’s study of the slightly pinkish skin. “You’ve been shot before?”

“Um, yeah, I thought that would be in my file.” Steve doesn’t elaborate and Tony concedes; this is not the time to catalogue old wounds, wounds that don’t show but scar nonetheless in other less definitive ways. 

Tony places a kiss on the color of pink, and then stands up and asks, “Lift your arm?”

Steve reaches up and holds it there.

“Rotate.” Steve complies; there’s a very low huff that he tries to suppress but he doesn’t exactly succeed. To which Tony says, “I thought so, still a little bit sore.”

Steve glances up at Tony and his cheeks are hot with flame. “It won’t hurt it, whatever you want to do.”

Tony smiles, toes off the dirty socks and tosses them away; he sits in front of Steve. His erection is heavy between his legs but not distracting, not when he has a feast in front of him. 

“Do you want to do this?” He leans forward, his lips just against the skin of Steve’s bare shoulder. His words are low. “Do you want to do this? Or do you want to-.” He can’t say the word, his words are tangled and frayed and they don’t come out of his mouth right, because this is who Tony Stark is, so he picks the only word he can be comfortable with. “Do you want to fuck and just that? Or do you want to play at this?”

Steve doesn’t touch him as if to show what he wants, as if to demonstrate that he wants someone else to take control, if only for a little while. “Play.”

Tony lifts his head and runs a finger down Steve’s cheek line. “I don’t know much about this, this sort of thing. Do you?”

Steve shakes his head and his eyes are wide, not like a child’s but in a terrified way.

“We have to be careful, so very careful. But I know you want me to break you down, take you apart, and remake you.”

Steve looks up to the ceiling as if to control his emotions, as if to bridle the reaction, but he can’t and his body shivers against Tony’s. It sends a jolt right to Tony’s groin. 

Tony traces his finger around those luscious lips, over the bridge of his nose, and then up to his temple. In one graceful move, Tony slides his hand into Steve’s hair, stands, and yanks as hard as he can. Steve cries out but doesn’t protest, doesn’t lift his hands to tear Tony away. 

“Look up at me,” Tony says. Steve follows his command. “I’m not going to call you names, nothing like whore or slut or anything like that. I don’t like it personally. Is that going to be a problem?” Tony’s been called these names in the press enough that he has a personal revulsion with them.

“No, no problem.”

“Babe, okay?” Steve warms under the hand Tony has on his chin lifting it, physically heats so Tony can actually _feel_. Christ, the wonders of serum. “I think that’s a yes.”

Steve smiles in reply.

“Okay then, up on the lounger, please.” Tony doesn’t see why being dominant means he has to be rude or mean. It just means he has to control Steve and himself – which is a labor and chore all at once that he craves. 

When Steve crawls up onto the lounger instead of standing and lying down, Tony nearly has an aneurism. The sight of his bare ass, his thick cock, and his undulating shoulders moving in a beautiful concert takes his breath away. Before Steve’s able to turn and lay down, while his ass is still presented, Tony hauls off and slaps him, stinging and hard enough to leave a hand print. It hurts his hand. 

Steve groans in response and arches his back.

“You like that?” He doesn’t wait for a reply just goes over to the supplies he got from the kitchen and picks up the wooden spoon. “Hands and knees.” Tony needs to firm up his voice, he’s shaking from excitement and, if he’s honest with himself, anxiety over doing this. He’s never ventured into this kind of thing before. He’s wondered, been curious, slapped the occasional lover on the ass, but nothing overt, nothing like this. He’s heady with need and want. 

Steve presents his ass and leans forward on to the back rest of the lounger. He doesn’t touch it, just waits.

“Rest your head on the lounger, if you need to.” Tony fills his lungs with air and then releases his breath. He swings, hard and full of force. Steve grunts out a response but is able to hold back any reaction. Tony isn’t sure this is what he wants, but his cock is hard and dripping between his legs. “Again.” 

He repeats it and bruises the skin of both cheeks in succession. He strikes a third time and a fourth. By the time he hits the sixth time, low guttural noises issue from Steve, and he’s physically rocking into each swing. The sounds Steve voices are delicious and ruined and perverse all at once. Tony can barely keep his ground, he can barely hold onto his needs. 

He beats Steve’s skin bright red again, dragging it out and Steve groans with abandon. He calls out, “Please, Tony.”

“What? Stop?” Tony stalls. His own heart is pulsating with the energy, the lust of doing this, having Steve under his hand, under his control. He doesn’t want to stop, but he will if Steve can’t or won’t continue.

“No, my-.” Steve can’t say it, but Tony knows, sees how Steve spreads out his legs further to present the perfect target. Tony feels it in his own gut. Tony has to pause, take in a deep breath to hold himself from the thrill.

“Okay, babe, get ready, relax into it.” He holds the handle of the wooden spoon, arcs the swing, and hits Steve’s balls. A gnarled, anguished and rough cry comes out of Steve and his sac tightens and he comes, and comes as Tony strikes him again. 

Tony hitches in a breath at the sight of Steve’s body rigid with his orgasm, as it rules him completely, then he collapses, and his face slams into the back of the lounger. His body quakes as he hides his face and Tony drops the spoon and rushes to his side. He touches him and Steve doesn’t move away from it, but leans into it. Soft and needy.

The lounger isn’t large at all, Tony should move this to the bed, but he has other ideas and really needs to do this here. So he curls his body and huddles next to Steve, placing his face against Steve’s wet cheek.

“Tell me?” Tony’s heart skips and jitters which is not a good thing for him – at all. He maintains calm in his voice and he’s somewhat surprised by that – as if he’s a natural at this role. It scares him a little. He puts the thoughts aside for another day. 

“It was-.” Steve stops and starts again. “Shattering, lovely.”

Tony plays with Steve’s hair and Steve does so in kind. Both of them have their fingers entangled in the other’s hair. “Why?”

“I can’t say. Maybe, maybe the doctors are right. Maybe there’s something wrong with me.” He closes his eyes but Tony still sees the shame, the self-revulsion. He knows this feeling, he’s been there before. 

It rings true down deep, echoes in the hollow of his bones. Tony has always been meant to guide Steve, to help Steve, to redefine him in this new world. He grasps his face and says in low tones, “Don’t say that. Don’t. They’re comparing you to the everyday, the standard, the typical person. By no means are you typical. You’re outstanding, in every fucking way. They can’t diagnosis you, because they have no standards by which to measure you.”

“But this-. Tony, why do I want this?” Steve searches Tony’s expression, pleading for him to help Steve come to terms with the fact he wants to be stripped bare and torn apart from his control, from being Atlas with the world perched on his shoulders. 

“I want to help you find out, will you let me?” Tony says.

Steve doesn’t think about it, he only says, “Yes.”

“Sit up against the back cushion.” 

Steve follows his directions, molds to Tony’s hands as he guides him. He flinches as his ass hits the lounger and Tony bites his inner cheek, to stop grinning from the pleasure of watching. After Steve settles himself lounging back on the cushion, Tony takes each of his arms and puts them to the side. “No moving your hands. Don’t touch anything, understand.”

“Yes.”

With light strokes across and down his body, Tony caresses Steve and, in soft whispers, he tells him to relax, to quiet, and to hush. Steve lies back and closes his eyes as Tony massages and feels every inch of his skin. There’s a sticky mess on his belly and Tony bends over and licks it, toward Steve’s navel. A gasp is his reward and Tony smiles. He lets his beard nuzzle against Steve’s skin to elicit another slight intake of breath. Tony notices Steve is half hard again and he brings up his hand to coat it with Steve’s come before he takes him in hand and strokes him.

Steve inhales but stays still. Tony leans over as he kneels on the floor and blows on the tip of Steve’s cock. Shocked by the breath of air, Steve opens his eyes and suffers through one of his full body rolls. He moans a little whine and murmurs but Tony doesn’t catch the words.

Looking around, Tony finds the discarded lube and condoms. “Now, we’re going to find out a little more, Steve. I want you to keep your eyes open and watch me.”

Steve pushes up and situates himself to sit more upright, while Tony climbs on the lounger and straddles Steve’s legs. He’s still achingly hard and he has to be careful to not just shoot his load as he plays with Steve and teases him. Christ, he _is_ like a horny teenager. 

Tony clicks open the lube and smears it all over his fingers. “Now, Steve, I want you to talk. I want you to tell me exactly why you want me to hurt you, dominate you, order you.”

Steve freezes and his erection wilts a degree. “Tony, I don’t.”

Lifting a finger, he shows it to Steve. It glistens with lube, and then, crouching, he very carefully fingers himself, allowing Steve a full show. Steve pushes back on the cushion, breathing heavily as he watches Tony. “Come on Steve, you want to tell me, don’t you?”

“No, I-.”

He stabs the finger deeper and takes his other hand and caresses Steve’s hard-as-stone cock again. “When we were together that first time, and you came, you came when I hit you. Tell me why.” He knows that Steve told him he doesn’t like to talk, so, of course, he presses this limit, to see if it is a restriction or just a hurdle to get over.

Steve turns away, and there’s a single tear trail down his face. He’s panting ever so slightly and sweat glows over his abs and chest. Tony slips his hand into the nest of hair at Steve’s pubis and yanks with a brutal pull. Steve opens his mouth and a cry issues but it is full of air and his body seizes with another shiver that coils and arches him in a wave. 

“Tell me, Steve, tell me why.”

“I wanted to come apart?” Steve says and it is very much a question as if he’s asking for Tony’s approval, needs Tony’s assent.

“Yes, and?”

“And I wouldn’t do what you asked,” Steve hisses through clenched teeth, his hands open and close against the sides of the lounger.

“What did I ask for?” Tony takes his finger out and shows Steve two fingers coated with lube, and then plunges back in. He scissors and opens himself. “What did I ask for Steve?” Tony cringes a bit, he hasn’t done this to himself in a while and he’s tight. He needs to relax a bit more.

“You wanted me to come without a hand on me,” Steve groans a bit, but it is like a whine ripped from a boxer in the middle of a fight. “Don’t, I don’t want to do this.”

“But you will,” Tony says and tears at the hairs again.

Steve shuts his eyes, as if to calm himself. “No, yes, yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to take me apart, by whatever means.”

“Why?” He slides the third finger in and pushes in deeper. He’s actively pumping his hand up and down into his ass now. A heat of delight burns bright inside of him, he needs Steve now. He has to control himself, rip apart Steve, and find the control he needs to delay his own needs.

“I like you against me, against my skin.”

“You’re losing me, soldier boy,” Tony says and twists the hair until it is on the brink of being plucked.

“I’m-I’m-,” Steve is saying. The single tear has been joined by others. “I’m translucent, transparent like a ghost.”

Tony is suddenly thrown back into Steve’s room in the house on the lake, the room with such beautiful illustrations except for Steve’s face. It was a blur of half shadows and no definition. He relaxes his hand and pets Steve’s erection. “Tell me, babe.”

Steve heaves in a breath and says, “I’m not here, I think I’m still sleeping. I’m not anchored here. It’s all a damned dream and I can’t wake up.”

“Do you want to wake up?” Tony asks.

Steve turns and gazes at him, really studies him and says with a moan, “No, never.” Steve muffles a groan and shakes his head. “I can’t, I don’t know. I want it to be real, but it isn’t. It can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I died,” he says and he isn’t looking at Tony. He’s looking up at the ceiling, with his voice wrecked, his expression ruined. “I want it to be a dream so I can be alive again, because I know I’m dead.”

Tony yanks his hand out of his ass and wipes it against the side of the cushion and bends over Steve, cupping his face in his hands. “Listen, listen to me, you are alive. You are fucking alive.” He can’t find the truth of it in Steve’s eyes, he’s torn Steve down to the bitter remains of ash, and death, and memories. 

“You are alive,” Tony says and grasps Steve’s cock, opens and rolls the condom over it. He coats it with lubes as Steve cries out, as Tony says, “You are alive.” He spears it into his ass. It sends a spiraling jolt of pain and pleasure into Tony, but he bites back his reaction and eases down on it.

Steve holds his breath and gazes at Tony, his eyes all blown wide with lust and hunger. All the tendons and arteries in his neck pop out against the strain, his chest arches up and he’s fighting any need for air. 

“Come on, babe, relax, breathe for me,” Tony says and sinks down further. The drag against his hole sizzles through him and Tony has to pause for a moment as it tightens and grips his balls. 

“God, Tony, you’re so-.” Steve colors and writhes against Tony. “The heat. Please, move, move.”

Settling, Tony leans down and presses his chest and the arc reactor against Steve’s skin. “I like this, maybe we’ll stay like this.” His breath is hot against Steve’s face, against his neck. He can smell the sweat mixed with the scent of sex. And it is delightful to Tony, his dick tucked between the both of them with a wonderful sense of friction. 

“Don’t,” Steve says and raises his hands as if he might try and force Tony to move. His hips are locked against Tony and the lounger. He cannot get leverage without using his hands. 

“Oh no, I said no hands, no hands,” Tony grabs both of Steve’s hands and clutches them in his fists. He yanks them above Steve’s head and kneels on each side of Steve’s hips. He’s careful to watch for any pain from Steve’s injury but sees none. 

He slides, slowly, inexplicably slowly, so that it wavers through his head and he swoons until he’s dizzy with it. He pushes down, the scrape of Steve’s dick causes Tony to rasp and moan and then he does it again. Steve’s fighting it, he wants more control. 

“Still, or I get off and tie up your dick and balls with string so you can’t come.”

This elicits another cry and multiple shudders that just keep undulating through Steve as Tony rides along with it. It makes Steve’s cock hit against his prostate and he cringes to stop himself from coming. Once Steve quiets again, once he’s panting and begging and nearly crying from Tony’s tiny movements above him, Tony pulls up and slams down. Lights flash and the room fades for a second as the thickness of Steve’s erection throbs inside Tony and he gulps for breath, for purchase, as he spins on the feeling. 

“Tony, Tony,” Steve says his voice on the edge of weeping and of danger. It both turns Tony on and terrifies him. He reaches and wraps his hands around Steve’s wrists, he presses, hard and harsh, into the tender inner skin. 

“What’s that. Babe?”

“More, please, please move.”

Tony releases one hand and places it against the wrist of the other. “Don’t let go.” He slides his hands down, then and cradles Steve’s face in his hands. “I want to see, I want to know, Steve. I want to remake you.”

Steve groans and arches as he tries to use the movement to better angle his dick in Tony’s ass. 

“Tell me, why, Steve, why?” Tony reaches down and straightens on his knees. He slips his index finger and his thumb around Steve’s cock. He squeezes and Steve screams out. “Tell me or so help me I won’t let you come for a week.”

“More.” Steve is openly weeping now and it roils in Tony’s belly, sets fire to his balls. He bites until he tastes blood as he tightens his grip of Steve’s root, and digs in his nails. Steve is thrashing a bit, forcing himself to try and remain still but not succeeding. Tony eases up some more and grabs Steve’s balls until he’s nearly hyperventilating and his eyes are so wide and lost Tony can’t stand it. He’s going to come; he needs to fucking let go. Just seeing Steve broken and lost and needy undoes him.

And then Steve says it and it is Tony breaking, shattering into a million points of sharp biting lights like daggers of steel. 

He says, “Chaos, Tony, you’re chaos, everything I need and cannot have. Take me over, split me open. You make me believe.”

Tony can hardly breathe but he chokes out, “Believe?”

“I can live, I am alive. Tony, remake me.”

And Tony does. 

He feels himself topple, falling and clenching and fracturing time and space until the light and dark around them invert and collapse. All the air is sucked from his lungs as he fountains over Steve’s abdomen, across his chest, and hitting his chin. The moment Tony’s come hits his jawline, Steve loses all grasp of reality and he’s coming hot inside Tony. He forgets Tony’s command about his hands and grabs hold of Tony’s shoulders to steady his breakdown, his total fall into chaos.

As Steve finishes and Tony settles against his chest, Tony kisses and touches and nips at his hot and salty skin. He worries at the spot where neck and shoulder meet until he’s sure even Steve will wear a bruise. He goes to the other side and does it again, until Steve issues little whines of pain. It curls and tightens something deep inside Tony to hear this noise, this sound from Steve and he knows, knows then that he was meant to do this, to be this. He’s found where he belongs. 

He lifts his head and looks at Steve and there’s a sweet and content look on his face. Tony brings Steve’s wrist to his mouth and kisses, then sinks in his teeth until Steve whines and rolls and tugs at him.

Tony knows he has to get up, get them cleaned up before this becomes messier than he planned. But he trails kisses and a line of bites up Steve’s arm until his inner arm is filled with red and purple bruises and Tony feels Steve growing slightly harder inside of him, again. If he doesn’t stop this, he won’t be able to sit down for a week, and while that idea is enticing right now, it won’t be later.

“Easy there.” He carefully pulls Steve out, takes the condom off and ties it and places it to the side. Steve is partially hard, he’s got a long way to go, so Tony kisses him lightly on the lips and lies on top of him, taking in his scent and the feel of him. “You are so perfect like this, so perfectly undone.”

The silence doesn’t scare Tony, but he looks up at Steve's expression and sees something curious, something that digs like sharpened claws into that hungry place inside of him, that place that wants to be dominant over Steve, that longs for this role.

“What, babe?”

Frowning, Steve flushes red but forces himself to say, “Can you do that?”

“What?”

“Tie me; tie me so I can’t come?”

“Oh, god, love. Shit, you are going to drive me insane. You know that, don’t you?” Tony softly touches Steve’s hair, plays with it a bit and quiets him as he quakes under Tony. “I can do it, if you want.” His voice is low, tender, but firm. “But, really, we shouldn’t do it with just regular string or anything. They make special toys for that. It’d be safer, I wouldn’t want to hurt your cock, it’s such a pretty one.” He lies to the side of Steve, and lets his hand drift down to Steve’s groin. He drags his fingers back and forth over it and brushes his balls. Steve moans, he’s oversensitive and, Tony can see, weak from his orgasm. 

“Yes,” Tony says and encircles Steve’s cock with his fist.

“No,” Steve murmurs in what can only be described as bordering on a whimper, and his expression is a mixture of want and need and pleading. 

Tony jerks his cock and it hardens, twitches under his touch. Steve throws his head to the side and closes his eyes, as if to resist Tony. Tony doesn’t let go, doesn’t end it. He strokes and grabs and pulls until Steve is curling against his fist, crying out for him to stop.

“No, no,” Steve whispers, but looks at Tony finally, and his eyes tell Tony more, beg for Tony to wrench it from him. So, Tony complies, yanks and tugging and fisting his cock until his body seizes and jerks into a full dry climax, with nothing but a dribble of come spurting from his dick. 

When Steve comes back to Tony, to himself, his body is lax under Tony’s petting, soothing hands. Tony is whispering and cooing him. His hands are still on Steve’s cock, still lingering.

“So, orgasm denial, you’re interested in that?” Tony says as if he hasn’t just forced another orgasm from Steve.

“Hmm?” Steve’s focus is bleary at best.

“You like the idea of me tying up your balls and dick?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” Steve says but he’s staring up at the ceiling to find his courage to voice his needs. “Can you, Can you do it sometime?”

Tony turns his face with a finger to his chin. “I can, I will. I’ll tie you up, and leave you hard for hours, maybe for days. Play with you when I want, then tie you up again. Would you like that?” Just saying the words lights flames so bright, so hot, so consuming in Tony’s belly that he has a hard time stopping himself from just getting whatever string he can find and trussing Steve up right now.

Steve watches his reaction and his inhalations swallow out, and he’s not panicking, but he’s wanting, needing, yearning. 

Tony’s touching him, petting him, quieting him. “Shush. Let’s get cleaned up.” 

He climbs to his feet along side of the lounger and helps Steve. Bruises circle Steve’s neck and pepper his one arm. Tony’s certain most will fade in a day. He has to find a way to mark Steve hard enough to make it last more than a few hours. Tony cannot imagine the pain in Steve’s balls since he smacked them with traitorous slaps with the wooden spoon and then had him orgasm thrice. 

“Come on, the bathroom’s not as nice here but it’s adequate.”

“I’ll help you,” Steve says.

Tony smiles and kisses Steve. “That’s kind of my job, sweetheart.”

Steve nods and allows himself to be led into the en suite bathroom. Even in this he needs to be reminded, he doesn’t need to be in control, he doesn’t need to lead all the time. Someone else can take responsibility; someone else can take care of him. 

The whirlpool bath is just large enough for both of them. Once he settles Steve in the tub, he steps in himself. He reclines opposite Steve and lets the water circulate around them first before moving to pull Steve in his arms. They lie like that for what feels like hours in the whirlpool with its heated jets. They kiss and taste and curl about one another.

Eventually, Tony leads Steve out of the tub. They both dry off and Tony insists on Steve lying on the bed while he goes out to the kitchen. Steve laughs a bit at the idea of Tony fixing them anything to eat. He retrieves a bottle of wine, some fruit, cheese, and bread. By the time Tony returns, Steve is huddled on his side, asleep.

Placing the food tray on the side table, Tony crawls into bed and spoons up against Steve. In a gentle touch of his lips, Tony kisses the nape of Steve’s neck and then wraps his arms around him. For the first time in a long time, he can think of no other place he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 4 and 5 are complete and awaiting beta editing. Chapter 6 is underway. I expect to complete chapter 6 this weekend. I will be looking for inspiration for the next story in this verse, though I know the general themes, it is always nice to hear what the reader is looking for. Thanks again for stopping by and reading!


	4. Concealment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For just a few days Tony and Steve are at peace and can explore their relationship and the old ski resort. But then reality intrudes upon them and everything changes...

CHAPTER 4   
They spend the better part of the next two days in bed. By the time they come up for air, Tony thinks his dick might just fall off. He hasn’t checked in with Barton or Natasha but he knows the spies have their ways of keeping tabs on them, so he’s not inclined to help them at all. Steve reclines on the lounger which has been turned to face the crackling flames in the stone fireplace. He’s still giggling at Tony’s aborted attempts to get the fire started, which is nothing to his full belly laughter when Tony discussed why he didn’t have any clean socks or underwear.

“Seriously, you don’t know how to do laundry?”

“When, if ever, would I have learned?” Tony had been standing with a fistful of dirty boxers trying to figure out if any would be suitable enough to wear. 

“Didn’t you go to college?” Steve had asked as he scooped up the dirty clothes and started putting them into piles. Tony watched this bizarre behavior until there seemed to be a pattern to it.

“Hey, you’re putting all the whites in one pile. Are they racist or something?” Tony pointed to the offending clothes.

“What?” Steve looked up from where he’d been crouching and said, “Are you serious?”

“I just,” Tony said and scratched his head. “Why, why, why is this important?”

“Because, Tony, no one likes an itchy dick,” Steve said and tore the underwear from his hand. After which, Tony was introduced to the compact wall washer and dryer unit off the kitchen. _Who knew?_ Most of the rules of doing laundry seemed excessively weird and overly old fashioned and he queried this fact.

“Yes, back in my day we used the Hudson river and rocks to wash our drawers.”

Tony stayed quiet after that and helped as much as he could. Even folding clothes had strange rules to it. He didn’t complain, because it all was so domestic and nice and normal to him. He felt real.

And Steve. 

As Tony looks over at Steve, watching him pluck grapes from the stem and pop them in his mouth as he reads, Tony notices how utterly relaxed and tranquil he is. There are marks over his chest, a sweet bite mark on his neck, and he’s probably still not sitting quite comfortably after their last session. Yet, he’s smiling and happy. He looks like a god damned Roman god or something.

Tony sits across from him with a tablet on his lap and a drink held at his fingertips. He finds he’s in the same place as Steve, relaxed, at ease with himself. This universe, this place they’ve created for themselves is right and good and it fits. He feels removed from everything, from every worry, or care. He sips the drink and feels the light burn of the alcohol. 

He clears his throat and Steve looks up from the book he’s reading. “Babe.” 

It is all Tony has to say and Steve dog-ears the page, sets the book down, and stands up. He positively leers at Tony. He pulls off the robe he’s wearing and lays it on the lounger. He only has his boxers on and he places his thumbs on the band, waiting for an unspoken command. Tony only has to nod and Steve slips out of them as well. Padding across the room, Steve comes to stand next to his chair. He’s half erect as he waits for Tony’s next words.

Tony drinks more of the bourbon before he sets the drink and tablet aside. He coats his tongue with the drink before he swallows, and then leans forward and mouths Steve’s cock. Steve gasps and goes to clutch onto Tony’s shoulders but he hesitates because Tony hasn’t said he’s allowed. As Tony sinks down further on Steve’s hardening erection, he reaches out and grabs Steve’s hands to tell him to touch. In the last two sessions, Tony hadn’t permitted Steve to caress or touch or pet any part of Tony. This is a special privilege now, a special reward that they’ve created in their universe. 

Steve runs his hands, his big, strong hands through Tony’s hair. It feels delicious, and soothing, and earnest. His hands are soft but balanced with a fierce strength that turns over in Tony’s gut as he glides his tongue, searching and tempting the thick mass in his mouth. He explores the ridge at the head and lets his tongue make a circle toward the base. As Tony continues, his intent to bring Steve off in a fast and dirty blowjob, he’s suddenly slowed and awed by the gentle way Steve’s touching him as if he’s a blind man and memorizing every line, every part of Tony’s face, his hair, and his shoulders. 

Steve rocks in subdued and gentle waves against Tony’s mouth. He’s making small moaning noises and his hands never stop, never scrape, never harm. He’s making love to Tony with his hands. It makes Tony want to weep as he grasps Steve’s ass and pulls him in deeper until he can feel the tip of his dick at the back of his throat. He’s sucking and urging with rolls of his tongue and caresses of his hands along Steve’s ass, across his balls.

Steve holds onto Tony, holds, and grasps, and cries as he warns Tony he’s about to come. When he feels the hot, bitter taste of it flood his mouth, he sucks hard and Steve’s legs weaken. It is only Tony’s grasp of his ass that steadies him. He drinks it down and then Steve’s collapsing, falling over him, cradling his head in his arms. 

“Oh babe,” Tony says and Steve stumbles to kneel before him. He lifts up Steve’s head so that he can gaze at those eyes, see that beautiful face. “I love you.”

He hadn’t planned on saying it, but he has to, he knows. This is what he wants, this is what he needs. And Steve, big and strong and perfect, is trembling under his hands.

“I love you, too,” Steve says and places his hands over the ones Tony has cupped to his face. The kiss starts as a tentative touch of lips as if they are both afraid the moment will end and their world will break with it. But as the moment slips and slides and opens up, the kiss grows and Tony plunges in to explore Steve’s mouth and to devour what he offers. Tony urges Steve, they war for a moment. Kissing and licking and biting each other until finally they have to come up for air. 

Tony leans his forehead against Steve’s and says, “Get dressed; I want to show you around a little.”

“Are you sure, you haven’t,” Steve says and gestures toward Tony’s jeans.

Tony smiles and says, “Don’t worry, some of us aren’t tortured by super cock serum and therefore do not need to come every fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t-.”

Tony places a finger on Steve’s lips and says, “Go, get dressed, I have something to show you.”

Steve inches forward but waits until Tony mimics the action and they kiss again, but it is lighter, less urgent. He gets up and starts to leave the bedroom. Before he does though, he says, “Tony?”

He peers around the wing of the chair. “What?”

Steve only smiles and says, “Nothing.” He disappears around the corner and out the door. 

Tony downs the rest of his drink and closes his eyes. Shit, what did he ever do to deserve this? This is too good to last, but he banishes the thought from his mind and sets the glass on the side table. Right now, he has to live in this perfect moment. He won’t think about the rest, not yet.

*oOo*  
Steve dresses like – well, Steve Rogers in his jeans and t-shirt with a plaid shirt over it. He slings on his leather bomber jacket and slides into his sneakers. Tony packs a bag of munchies because everyone knows that super soldiers need to eat more than grapes, and the thought of Steve eating Cheetos again is too much to resist. As Steve ties his shoes, Tony grabs for his phone and jiggles the keys. “Time is a-wasting, big boy.”

To that Steve smiles and they both head toward the door. Steve stops Tony and leans down to find his mouth again. They kiss with a kind of urgent care; there’s something in it, something lurking that stirs both Tony’s desire and his fear that something outside their universe will destroy them. He looks up and sees the same thing reflected back from Steve’s visage. He raises a hand to touch his face and says, “Let’s go.”

Tony leads them down the steps of the condo. The air is cool and crisp. Spring is right around the corner and the snow is becoming less like powder and more like an icy-slushy mess. Good thing Natasha and Barton got skiing out of their systems early in this little adventure. As soon as they get to the ground level, Barton and Natasha appear at the exit to the condo. Tony notices they both exit the same apartment, but doesn’t mention it. He likes his dick exactly where it is, thank you very much.

Barton signals to Steve, and immediately, Tony watches as he turns from Steve to Captain America. His body becomes not just rigid but ready. He’s a pillar of strength but also agile and swift to move. Barton trots down the stairs with Natasha following. He calls out to them. “Finally, I thought we were going to have to send a search and rescue team in there. I thought for sure someone might have strangled someone.” He chuckles a bit as he joins them. He peers at Tony’s neck. “I thought maybe I’d see the Captain’s hand prints on your neck.”

Tony peers over at Steve, who has his shirt buttoned to the top, thus concealing the red bruise on his neck. While all the marks over his body will fade at an accelerated rate, they do take time and the lingering ones seem to please Steve, and heighten Tony’s desire to a slice of near pain.

“We’re working on some renovation I’m doing,” Tony says and while that’s not exactly true, he thinks in some oblique way it is. He waves Steve over to the small line of garage ports. “We’ll take the groundskeeper’s car.” He points to the wonder twins. “Only a two seater, sorry.”

“We’ll follow,” Barton says with a sharp salute. 

The keys have a remote to open one of the ports, as the door slides to reveal a line of vehicles. He gestures to the John Deere Gator. “This is the new RSX850i. It’s the 850i Trail addition. I haven’t done any upgrades myself, but it goes off road like a dream and powers through the muck without so much as a hiccup. It has an on-demand, true four-wheel drive system with a selectable but limited slip and full locking front differential. She’s mean on the roads and doubly so off. I think you’ll like her, Cap.” He tosses Steve the keys. “You drive.”

Steve beams at him and scrambles to launch himself into the vehicle. He uses the overhead bar to jump into the driver seat. Tony prefers to open the door and sit in the passenger seat. He tosses the snack bag into the foot well. The back of the vehicle is a cargo bed and is grimy from work around the property. 

Steve backs the Gator out of the parking spot and idles it on the driveway while Tony directs him. “We can take a trip around the property first. I can show you the ski lifts, the different condo settings.”

“Are you refurbishing the ski resort?” Steve says as he pulls out onto the road following Tony’s signal to turn to the right. Tony doesn’t look, he doesn’t have to, because he knows Barton and Natasha are trailing them. He’s somewhat grateful it is them and not some other anonymous SHIELD agents. 

“Nah, skiing is not a great sport in this part of the country. Sure, people ski here. But it isn’t as much as an overnight or long vacation spot here,” Tony says as the Gator runs over the paved roadway. “The snow in the Northeast is icier, more difficult to handle than the powder which is more characteristic of the west. Sure, they get powder here, but it is usually on a pack of ice – so not as much fun to ski.”

“So, not a ski resort?” Steve says and angles the vehicle along the roadway.

“Up there is the Sky Mountain Restaurant.” Tony sniggers. “Seriously, barely above sea level and they call it ‘Sky Mountain’. This area gets to around 1500, 1600 above sea level. That isn’t a big mountain, more like a foothill to what we have out west.”

Steve turns to look at him for a second and then concentrates on the road. “Oh, right, Malibu.”

“Yep.”

“Do you miss it?” Steve asks.

“California? The west? Sure do.” Tony motions for him to go toward the left. “We’ll see the perimeter of the property and then head inward.”

“Are you going back?”

Tony nods and knows that Steve doesn’t see him. “Yes, I’m planning on it. Things are different in the East. I’m not an Easterner. People talk too fast out here, act like they have a stick up their asses all the time.”

“And California is better?”

Tony laughs. “No, not better, not by a long shot. Just, just different.” Tony shrugs. Before he even thinks about it, he says, “I miss home, sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean,” Steve says and his look is far away.

Reaching out, Tony grasps one of Steve’s arms and pulls his right away from the steering wheel. “Hey, hey. You have a home now, here. You know that, right?”

Steve glances at him, just briefly, and there is longing and hope, and something sweet and sad in his expression all at once. He smiles that boyish, slightly abashed smile and says, “Yeah, I know.”

They fall into a silence for a few minutes as they drive past a stand of tall, ancient-looking pines and then start to climb the mountain toward the summit. Steve squeezes Tony’s hand once before he lands his hand back on the wheel to steady the motion of the Gator. 

“So, not a ski resort? A home for all your robots?”

Tony enjoys a private little giggle and then says, “Once we get up to the top, to the sky restaurant.”

They’ve circled back and up the mountain toward the little defunct restaurant. Its doors are shuttered and the windows are dark. Once Steve parks the Gator and the trailing SUV stops a few meters away, Tony unlocks the door and climbs out. He throws a glare at Barton which clearly states they are not invited. He can see Natasha wave at him and Barton say something to her.

Ignoring them, Tony rounds the vehicle and waits for Steve to get out of it. He pops back in once to grab the snack bag and hand it to Tony. Pointing the way up the broad steps of the single story building, Tony ushers Steve inside. He only briefly touches his hand to the small of Steve’s back. 

When they stand outside the door to the restaurant, Tony asks for the keys and Steve hands them over. He flips through them. It has been ages since he was last up here and he has to try a few of them to open up the lock. This place hasn’t been updated at all. It still has the 1960s feel to it. Opening up the door, Tony gestures for Steve to go first and they both enter the dark vestibule. Tony has to unlock the inner doors before they go into the wide open lodge-like atmosphere of the Sky Mountain Restaurant. 

The ceiling is open-beamed and all the woods are a knotty pine. There are a few tables and booths still standing and a large bar along the back of the restaurant. The bar has red leather upholstered to the sides and high steel and wooden stools along its flank. The mirror has a thick sheen of dust on it that obscures any reflection. 

“Wow, this place-.”

“Needs to be tremendously updated, I know,” Tony says.

“But it’s gorgeous,” Steve says and Tony smiles a bit. Slowly, very slowly he will bring Steve to the 21st century.

“Back in its day, I’m sure it was. Unfortunately, I have to gut the whole thing.” Tony scans the windows with their ragged curtains and dirt.

“What? Why?” Steve says as he drags a finger along the woodwork lining the borders of the restaurant bar area. 

“It won’t do to have this as is. My original plan was to use the ski lodge, but I like this better. It is the center of the property so it’s more logical.” Tony takes out his phone and starts flashing pictures.

“For what?”

“For the student union,” Tony says and pulls Steve close to him. “You are standing in the middle of the new student union of the Stark Arts and Technology Institute.”

“Wow, Tony,” Steve says and scans the room. “That’s, wow. I can’t even imagine being able to do something of that scale.”

Tony gives him a quick peck on the cheek and says, “Well, you better start trying because I am going to need a lot of help.”

“What about Pepper?”

“Oh, yeah, we are going to need a lot of help.” He thinks about Happy and Pepper together and something soft and warm eases in his chest. “She is great with the details; I’m a big idea guy.”

“When I came back from Afghanistan is was about changing things, redemption. Now, it’s about meaning. This,” Tony taps the arc reactor. “Changed everything. I want to bring together people who’ll change the world for the better, now.”

“It’s phenomenal, Tony.”

“I have the technology guru.” He points to himself. “But what I really need is the arts part of it.”

“Arts?”

“This is a campus to bring together the top thinkers and doers in the fields of technology and art. I want to bring two sectors of knowledge together, two that are essentially diametrically opposed and mash them together to see what comes out of it.” Tony spreads his arms open and, as he turns, says, “This will be the heart of it all. I want to bring them together, shift paradigms, encourage innovation, and inspire ingenuity. This will be it.”

“That’s a big mission to set down for yourself,” Steve says as he follows Tony. 

“Not just me, babe, me and you.” Is this too fast? Tony always, always jumps on ideas and rides them like a wild pony at a rodeo. He doesn’t think, he just does. He’s chancing everything to lay out his wildest dreams to Steve, asking him to be a part of it. Tony doesn’t know, right now, he doesn’t care because he loves the twinkle in Steve’s eye, the fascination that just gleams off of him. 

“Is it a college, or a graduate school?”

“A little of both?” Tony says. “Right now, I’m seeing it as a place juniors and seniors in college might come to take a semester away, learn something out of their field. Then I think I’ll expand it to include graduate students.”

“That’s just swell, Tony, really I think it’s just-.” Steve stops and hangs his head. When he looks back up at Tony, there’s something hidden and soft and purposeful in his eyes. “You continue to surprise me and remake yourself, Tony.” He keeps staring at Tony, but the look seeks more, asks for more and Tony crosses the room and has Steve in his arms.

He’s holding Steve, gazing up into those blue eyes with those impossibly long lashes, and he’s saying, “It’s art and technology. I need someone who knows art.”

“I never went to college, not really, anyhow. I don’t know much. I’m not an art scholar at all,” Steve replies, but his body molds against Tony’s as if it was shaped specifically for him. He buries his face in Tony’s hair. “I wouldn’t be much of a help to you.”

“Oh yes, yes you would.” His mouth is on Steve’s and he knows it’s wrong, he knows they shouldn’t chance it here, but Steve this close is like having the finest piece of technology in his hands and told he’s not allowed to play with it. 

God, he wants to fuck Steve right here, right now.

Steve’s grabbing at him, then, tearing at his clothes and they taste one another to drive one another forward. Tony staggers back and hauls Steve over to a table. “Pants off.” He’s surprised by the sounds of his words, rasped and rough. Before he even realizes it, he hears the click of Steve’s belt, the zing of his zipper, and he’s dropping his pants and his boxers at once.

As Tony bends him over the table, Steve whispers in a near groan, “Lube in my jacket pocket.”

Damn it, Captain fucking America planned ahead. It is all Tony can do to get his god damned fucking pants down. He slicks up his dick and his fingers but when he slides two fingers into Steve’s ass he notices more of a give. “Still nice and loose for me from this morning.”

“Please,” Steve says with grunts and pushes back as Tony brushes across his prostate.

“Grab onto the table ridge, because I’m going to fuck you into tomorrow,” Tony says and positions himself. He’s so hard right now it freaking hurts. He rams his entire length into Steve with one powerful stroke. Steve growls in response. Clutching each hip bone enough to leave fingerprints, Tony clamps onto Steve and sets up a punishing rhythm. He doesn’t let Steve catch his breath; he strikes and strikes over and again. His own dick is aching from all the activity over the last days, but he needs more. He wants more. 

He’d like to hear Steve yell and cry out for him. He’d like him to beg him. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmurs as he thinks of Barton and Natasha just outside the filthy windows. They might hear. Jesus, they could look in, walk in at any time. Yet, these thoughts just goad him on, force his thrusts deeper, to become more erratic and crazed with lust for Steve. 

Steve shudders under him, panting and gasping for breath as Tony shoves into him. Steve’s muffling his moans somehow and Tony suspects he might be biting down on his lip. He considers how many times he could make Steve orgasm in an hour and decides that might be one thing he would like to try out. He hits Steve’s sweet spot again and he finally yells out. Steve’s grip on the table is white knuckled and he squeezes his eyes closed and buries his face on the dirty table. 

Tony doesn’t let up. He thrusts again and again, his own dick throbbing a beat in Steve’s ass. He can hear the perverse sound of the drops of pre-come leaking from Steve’s cock as it splatters over the table, onto the floor. He knows he’s tormenting Steve’s cock as it slams against the metal edge of the table.

Steve rocks back into every stroke and falls forward, allowing his dick to hit the table. The motion is too much for him, he’s groaning and pounding against the table. He gasps out a breath and barely whispers Tony’s name before his ass clenches down on Tony and he’s coming all over the table and floor. The tightening yanks Tony over the precipice as well and he groans out his completion, paralyzed by how hot and wet and tight everything is. He hangs there, a bit, overwhelmed and a little embarrassed that he let this happen. He finally collapses onto Steve, if for only a moment. 

Shit, they didn’t even use a condom. What a freaking mess this is going to be.

He comes back to himself and Steve has a slight shiver that he’s trying to hide from Tony. Slowly, Tony eases out of Steve and yanks up his pants, and tucks himself back in. He holds onto Steve and tells him to stand.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve’s expression is a little dazed and a bit foggy. “Come on, babe, you okay?”

Steve shakes himself a bit and automatically goes to pull up his boxers and pants. His hands tremor ever so slightly and he can’t get the top button on his jeans. Tony pushes his hands out of the way and snaps it closed for him.

“Sit,” Tony says and leads him to a bench in a booth a table away from the mess. “Stay.” He hates talking to Steve like he’s some kind of big dog, but right now Steve’s scaring him a little. His face is devoid of emotion and he’s not focusing at all. 

Racing over to the bar, Tony searches around for anything at all to drink. He pushes old glasses around, and seriously outdated cans of olives and jars of what might have been cherries at one time. Finally, he finds a very old, very expensive bottle of Scotch. It’s like a gold mine. He grabs two of the glasses and goes to the sink. It takes a bit for the water to start running and he’s sure the boiler to heat the water doesn’t work in this place at all. He can see his breath and the only reason he’s not cold is because he’s still worked up after having amazing, over-the-table sex.

He scrubs the glasses as much as he’s able with cold water and pours in three fingers of Scotch into both of them. He brings the glasses and bottle over to the table. He puts them down and Steve watches him, but doesn’t react. 

“Drink the Scotch, Steve.” 

Steve clasps the glass and looks at it like it’s a foreign object, but he raises it to his lips and sips, then downs the entire thing. In a murmur, he says, “I wish I could get drunk.”

Tony’s heart nearly collides with his stomach as it drops from his chest. “Steve, babe, tell me you’re okay. Are you? Was this too much?” Tony pours him another drink.

His eyes have come back to reality and for this little fact, Tony is grateful. “I’m, yeah, I’m good.” But he doesn’t look up at Tony, just stares at the liquid in the glass. 

Reaching over, Tony lays a hand on top of the one that is clutching the glass as if it is his life line. It hurts to see Steve like this, because Tony has been there, and understands it so well. “Hey, come on, are you okay?”

Steve looks up and there’s something else replacing that lost look, something charming and disarming all at once. “Yeah, I’m good, really good.”

Tony tangles his fingers with Steve’s so much so that he has to transfer the glass to the other hand. “Tell me.”

“I just, I’ve never done that to anyone before,” Steve smiles. It is shy but alluring, a dichotomy of emotions. “The way I affect you, it’s a little humbling sometimes.”

“Oh Christ, man, you nearly had me pissing myself there,” Tony says and sighs. He drinks all of his Scotch in one go and tosses the glass on the table. “I thought for sure you hated it, that you were thinking what a fucker I am.”

Steve smiles, but it is lusciously evil. “Oh you’re a fucker, all right.”

Tony’s supremely glad he drank all of his Scotch because if he had any left he’d be snorting it through his nose right now. There is something damned attractive about Captain America saying fucker. “Jesus, you are bound to kill me.”

Steve tips his head back as he drinks the rest of his Scotch. “Again.” Tony complies. “You know Natasha or Clint could have walked through the door at any time.”.

“I didn’t see you stopping anything,” Tony says with a wink. He reaches over and brushes away some of the grime and dirt from the table from Steve’s forehead and cheek. He pours himself another glass.

“No, no you did not,” Steve agrees and finishes up his drink. “I feel a little light headed though, wow, almost like I’m drunk.”

Tony tilts his head and smiles. “That is probably subspace.”

“Yeah, I like it, been here a few times, now.” He smiles and leans back on the seat. “Makes me feel a little less like me.”

It is Tony’s turn to frown. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Steve has his head resting on his folded arms. “Means what it means. I don’t know, Tony. I’m not an expert on this lifestyle. I just know it fits.”

Just as Tony starts to quiz Steve on the attributes of subspace, the door to the restaurant swings open and Natasha leans in. “We have to go.”

Steve sits up but Tony can tell he’s not ready for duty. He’s far from ready. “Why? What’s up?” Tony asks as he stands to make sure he blocks her view of the drying puddle of semen on the floor and table as well as a little dazed Captain America.

“Got a call from Fury. They have some new info and they specifically need you to take a look at it. They think it’s a break and they’re calling us in.”

“Okay,” Cap says from behind Tony.

“A ‘copter will be here in an hour.” Natasha waits in the doorway for them.

“Make it two,” Tony says and then points over his shoulder. “Capsicle’s shoulder is still a little tight. He needs to take care of it before we go back.” Lame, that is one lame excuse.

She considers him for a minute as if she might call him on it. But then she cocks her eyebrow at him and smiles. “Fine. But can we start back to the condos, now? My toes are freezing.”

“Sure thing.” Tony says.

It takes Tony another five minutes to get Steve up and walking to the door. He’s a little more than woozy; he’s down right drunk on the pheromones and endorphins rolling around in his hot little brain. Absently, Tony wonders if the serum enhances the after-effects of sex and wouldn’t that be great – except for now, of course, when he needs Captain America to be at the top of his game. 

This might be a problem.

Neither Barton or Natasha make a damned comment when Tony leads Steve out of the Sky Mountain Restaurant with a little bit of a hand at his arm to lead him to the Gator. He thinks it best if he drives and has Steve situated in the passenger seat. Digging through the snack bag, Tony pulls out a bag of Cheetos and hands it to Steve.

“Eat.”

“Okay,” Steve says and smiles with such goofy appeal that Tony thinks all the blood in his body might have stay permanently pooled in his dick.

“Stop it, just eat.”

“Yes, I will eat. Of course,” he says and settles into his seat with the bag open on his lap. Tony goes to the driver seat and hops in to see Steve fisting the Cheetos and stuffing them in his mouth.

“A little hungry?”

With a full mouth, Steve answers, “Been hours, lots of activity, I’m famished.” Which is what Tony discerns he probably said since it comes out more like ‘Bin ors, wos a atevetee, m famesst.’ 

“You are incorrigible.” Tony says and guns the engine. “Wanna see what this little baby can do?”

Steve answers with a shine in his eyes.

“Let’s take the short cut then.” He switches gears and angles the Gator toward the side of the mountain without the road. “Let’s see if bird man can follow us.” He rams it into the snow over the mush of the muddied grounds and drives it like he owns it (which he does). 

The ride is anything but smooth, yet he’s laughing and smiling so much it hurts. Steve keeps trying to balance the snacks on his lap, feed his pie hole, and continue to hold on as the Gator tips dangerously one way or the other. It never topples, and he glances in the rear view mirror to note that Barton took the road around the resort. Tony has to snicker a little at that. 

He steers the Gator around trees and over the ski slope. He’s effectively doing the slalom over the ski runs and he’s ruining them, but he didn’t buy this place for its delightful skiing, he bought it because it was an excellent deal and would suffice to remake part of his dream. He looks over at Captain America sitting in the passenger seat, gripping the roll bar, and flashing a smile at him.

Yeah, remaking yourself is a great way to change the world, he thinks.

*oOo*  
Once he parks the Gator right outside the condo, Tony hurries Steve out of it and up the stairs. He doesn’t want any questions from Natasha or Barton and he has to get Steve out of his subspace as quickly as possible while at the same time being understanding of his feelings about it. Subspace is part of the reward for being a good submissive, taking it away is part of the punishment. Or so he understands.

He needs to get Steve cleaned up and ready to go. Bringing Steve into his bedroom, he tells him to strip and sit on the bed, and then Tony goes into the bath and fills up the whirlpool tub. When Tony returns to the bedroom, Steve is relaxing on the bed and waiting. He’s half hard again – and Tony wonders if it is a constant state for the guy. Jesus, how uncomfortable has that got to be?

He gets Steve in the tub. While Steve soaks, Tony pulls off his clothes and steps into the water. Without a word spoken, Steve moves to lean close to Tony. Tony wants to stay like this forever, secure in their little universe, sharing Steve’s subspace with him, and literally forgetting the rest of their troubles as well as the threats from the worlds outside their own little realm. 

Part of the other Tony, the Tony who doesn’t give a fuck, wants to just forget the rest of their responsibilities. This new Tony, this Tony growing in his relationship with Steve, cannot do that, so he needs to buck up and deal with it.

After he finishes scrubbing Steve’s hair and rinsing him down, he says, “We have to go, Steve. Fury’s sending a ‘copter.”

Steve still has his eyes closed and his head resting against a rolled towel at the edge of the tub. “Yes.”

“Are you ready to leave? Can you do that?”

Steve peers at him with one eye open, the steam from the bath ripples over the air and light condensation runs down the taupe tiles in the bath. “I don’t want to, Tony. But I heard what Natasha said. I know we have to go.”

He reaches out with a washcloth and sponges at the perspiration on Steve’s upper lip. “I’m sorry, babe. I thought we’d have more time.”

Steve moves a bit and the water jostles. He offers his hand and Tony nods, allowing it. Steve brushes his fingertips down the line of Tony’s cheek, follows the shape of his beard. “I knew this wasn’t going to be like this forever, Tony. You don’t have to worry about me; I can handle a little break in our routine.”

“Is it a routine, then?”

“If you want it to be,” Steve says and smiles. 

“I think I want.” Tony raises his index finger and says, “Erase that, I know I want.”

Steve smiles and they share a sweet, chaste kiss. “We have to go, now?”

“Yep.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe.”

Quietly, they climb out of the tub, each helping the other. Tony clasps Steve’s hand and leads him back into the bedroom where he helps Steve dress, despite Steve’s tiny protests. They are light and without much force in them. This little gesture of Tony’s, he hopes, will help them get through the time apart.

When they pack and are ready to leave, Tony kisses each of Steve’s closed eyes, then he takes his mouth. He takes and takes and takes as a silent reminder of who they are and what they are to one another. Steve receives and never backs down, never forgets. When Tony locks the door and trails after Steve, he indulges in the warmth of remembrance. 

He knows he shouldn’t spend the flight back mourning the loss of their time together; there will be other times, with less hanging over their heads. Tony knows this in the hollow of his bones, yet something won’t leave him, something hard and harsh and off-putting keeps a shadow following them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story goes into plot in the next chapter and then twists again in the last chapter (6). Tony and Steve are about to be put through the wringer in more ways than one. ;o) Hope you enjoyed so far!


	5. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a mission goes wrong, Tony has to make a choice between saving the world or saving Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again so many kudos for my bestie, rabidchild67 for her continued support and editing of this story. It would really suck without her input and work.

CHAPTER 5  
Tony wants to throw a hissy fit, and if he knew what the hell a hissy fit was, he’d be doing it right now. The ‘copter whisked them away from the resort without much fanfare, and they ended up landing on the low flying Helicarrier some forty-five minutes later. Once they were secured inside the carrier, the ship climbed to reach flying altitude. Which is all fine and good, except that they still haven’t been briefed about the current threat, and they are literally sitting around the table on the bridge of the Helicarrier waiting for an update.

Steve handles it remarkably well. He’s polite and kind to everyone he meets. He asks and does not demand. Everyone on the ship seems to offer him deference, and Steve knows it. Here, he is not Steve Rogers, but Captain America. 

It sends a shock of pleasure through Tony, as if he’s proud and pleased with something he’s done. But Steve and his persona as Captain America have no connection to Tony, except for the very obvious one through his father. His mind wanders down that ugly path of questioning whether or not his father had any self-satisfaction when he looked at Captain America. Did he think, I did that? I helped create him? It turns Tony cold when he thinks of anyone, and most especially his father, taking credit for who Captain America is. Erskine was right. It wasn’t the serum that made the man. Sure, the serum built him physically, but mentally and psychologically, the basis of who Captain America is has its origins in the scrawny but scrappy kid from Brooklyn, Steve Rogers.

He tries to let the ease and calmness of said Steve Rogers permeate his brain, but right now he’s about to flip every switch and gear and go mad. They’ve been waiting for over two hours for something, anything.

Finally, Maria Hill walks in and nods to them. 

“Hmm, more than that would be appreciated at this time. Actually, a whole ton more than that is required at this time.” Tony doesn’t get to elaborate on the reasons for this because Fury walks in with his usual scowl. “Oh, the man of the hour, himself.”

“Sorry, Stark, did I interrupt your session at the tanning salon?” 

Steve sits up and catches Tony by the arm, stopping him. His mannerisms, how he moves, and how he interacts with Tony are completely removed from how they were just hours ago. Tony bites back his reply and stares at Steve.

“Let’s just hear the director out, okay?” Steve says and nods to Fury.

Both Barton and Natasha are lingering at the periphery of the table and there’s an unspoken conversation going on between them. Tony’s a little jittery about it, perhaps they suspect something, or perhaps they saw something. 

“Our current situation is that we’ve picked up chatter that Hydra has plans to take out a major American city, followed by several cities in Europe and Asia.” Fury hooks his thumbs at his belt and Tony idly considers whether or not the man always wears the leather coat. Does he wear it to bed?

“By what means?” Steve asks.

“Nuclear?” Barton chimes in.

“No, we’ve contacted the scientists at the Y-12 Security Complex in Oakridge, Tennessee and they assure use that according to their database, no uranium has fallen into questionable hands,” Hill says but adds as an editorial, “well more questionable.”

“Y-12?” Steve looks around at them.

Tony fills him in because he’s sure Barton and Natasha either don’t know, or are under strict motivation not to divulge information to Captain America in order to continue to control his immersion into the world. “Y12 is part of the National Uranium Material Archive where scientists are putting together a database of uranium fingerprints.” 

Steve waits for him to continue.

“Mined uranium will be fairly dirty, lots of other elements and ore around it. It needs to be refined and enriched before it can be turned into the fuel for one of those bad boy nuclear bombs you read about. From where the uranium is originally mined, it would have a fingerprint based on those contaminating ores,” Tony says. He spins in his chair to face Fury. “So, they have a complete database.”

“As complete as we can make it. Some of the materials were smuggled out of countries that won’t play nice, so we don’t have exact locations on that material,” Fury says.

“Oh, that must have been a great job, smuggling radioactive materials. What kind of crap straw did that guy pull?” Tony says and watches as Barton grimaces. Oh, and yikes.

“So, not nuclear, then what?” Natasha asks.

“We have some sketchy information,” Fury says.

“That was fast, three weeks and you’re in? Close enough to find out this information?” Tony cocks his head and studies Fury. Something does not add up. Who does Fury think he’s playing with? Sometimes it is like playing chess with someone who only knows the rules to Chutes and Ladders. 

“We have intel regarding an energy signature,” Fury says and waves him off.

“And what do the analysts think?” Tony crosses his arms and waits. He knows what’s coming; he just wants Fury to ask. 

Fury fumes as he glares at him. “Stark, you really are a trip, aren’t you? Well, you want me to ask, I’m asking. They haven’t a clue as to what the signatures are from. They’ve compared it to each and every known energy source and spectrometer analysis and nothing is even close.” 

“Interesting,” Tony says and he has to admit his curiosity is piqued. 

Fury swings a screen around and Tony gets up from his chair and stands by it as the director calls up the wave patterns. “This is what we have. Simple, straightforward, but we can’t even come close to figuring out what’s putting that signature out. The types of analyses are shown here.”

Tony leans in and studies it. It’s strikingly familiar but strangely remote and different. It reminds him of tasting a new dish, that’s maybe Chinese but in actuality is Thai. Close but not quite. “May I?” He pushes in a little to get at the keyboard.

“Be my guest,” Fury gestures for him to take control. “But no funny stuff.”

Tony turns to him and winks. “The funny stuff is always where all the fun begins, Director.” He lets Fury stew on that as he races over the keys. He calls up different wave forms from the most exotic sources he can think of, and the most mundane. None of them match up. He tisks a few times as he scratches at his beard.

“Nothing?” Steve says. He’s standing next to Tony, watching the figures and lines dance across the screen. 

“Hmm, not really. Kind of wish Banner was here,” Tony says and peers over his shoulder at Fury and the rest of the musketeers. “Where’s the big guy?”

“On retreat,” Natasha answers, but she shrugs her shoulders. “It’s what we’re assuming, right now. After he left your Tower, he left the country.”

“And you’ll have me believe you’re not monitoring him?”

“I’ll have you believe that where Doctor Banner is, isn’t any of your business,” Natasha replies and folds her arms across her chest, just daring him to try it.

He turns back to the screens with no little curse on his lips. He could use some of Banner’s insight right about now. Digging out his cell phone, he hits the screen for JARVIS and his A.I. instantly response.

“Scan this,” Tony says as he points the phone at the screen.

“Stark, I did not authorize,” Fury interrupts but Tony raises a finger. 

“Now, change the periodicity by five, no ten percent negative and invert,” Tony commands.

“Complete, sir. Display should be coming through to the SHIELD main computers now.”

“As always, a pleasure, JARVIS.”

“I missed you, too, sir.”

Tony chuckles at that, and flips the phone closed, then switches back to focusing on the screen. He pulls up the new analysis and cringes. “Fuck a duck.”

“What?” Steve leans in closer as if it might help him to understand what’s undulating on the screen.

“That is the energy signature of a fully functional and stable arc reactor putting out my famous clean and green energy,” Tony says, and then he flicks a key. The image widens and flips over. “That is the energy of our mysterious source.”

All of them are huddled around the screens, now. “That’s pretty damned close,” Barton says.

“Not pretty damn, that’s amazingly close,” Tony says grimly.

“What does that mean?” Steve looks at him.

“It means someone’s turned a very peaceful source of energy into an unstable weapon.” Tony thinks he just might throw up.

“You’re saying that’s an arc reactor?” Fury asks.

“Not an arc reactor, an inverse of a reactor. The core isn’t generating an electromagnetic field like the arc reactor does. Its harnessed the energy in a completely, though genuinely genius way.” Tony can appreciate the beauty of it. “It’s using at its core an unstable element-.”

“Palladium?” Natasha asks.

“No, something much worse. I think they probably tried to synthesize the same materials in the same ratio I have in my reactor.” He taps his chest. The fine clinking sound reminds everyone an arc reactor is in the room. “But I never publically shared that information. So whatever they have isn’t stable and it’s getting more unstable as they force the reaction in on itself. This is beyond unstable.”

“Christ,” Fury says and shakes his head.

“But we know where they’re doing this?” Steve asks.

“Yes, we have a location,” Fury confirms. “But it’s too dangerous to go in with an all-out assault. The place could blow up a major city and kill a lot of people.”

“Then we go in with a few people and assess the situation. From there we can make our plans,” Steve says.

“My thoughts exactly, Cap, I’d like it to be you and Natasha.”

“What?” Tony says. “Um, no. I know the science, I can figure out what the hell is going on. It would be all kinds of stupid not to send me in.”

“Then I’ll enjoy my time with all kinds of stupid because that is what is going to happen. You are not going, Stark.” Fury gives him the stink eye.

He whips around to Steve and finds a very set, firm expression. “I agree with the director, Tony. You can’t go. They are obviously developing technology very close to you-.”

“You cannot be serious? You wouldn’t even know what the fuck that was if I hadn’t identified it.” Tony is seething with anger, cannot believe that Steve would turn coat and march to Fury’s tune. 

Steve puts both hands up as if in surrender and says, “Listen, Tony, they very obviously want you, not just the suit. They want your brain. Right now, we have to protect you at all costs.”

“No, no, I don’t accept that,” Tony snaps. “This is my technology they’re perverting for their little world dominating plans. I didn’t ask them to play in my sandbox, so I get to kick them out.” His rage feels like a fire in his belly, roiling and scorching.

Steve waits for him to calm down, and when he sees Tony take several breaths, he continues. “I don’t disagree.” When Fury starts to interrupt, Steve raises a single finger to the director, and he falls silent. The power of Captain America knows no hierarchy. “Natasha and I will go in and check things out. Once we’re in and get some information then we bring in the rest of the team, including, and most importantly, you. We’re going to need you to disarm this thing, if it can even be done.”

It sounds all logical, and thought out, like a strategy would be from one of the world’s most renowned strategists. He frowns and shakes his head. “I want to go on record as saying I don’t like it.”

“Duly noted,” Steve says, and then he turns to Fury. “When do we ship out?”

“O-eight hundred. Get some rest, the both of you.” This Fury says to both Natasha and Steve. “I’ll have your intel packets ready for you in the morning.”

“Thank you, sir.” Steve nods and says to Natasha. “Meet you in the mess around seven to go over details?”

Only a cocked brow and a slight bow of her head is his answer. He smiles and faces Tony. “I could use something to eat, hungry?”

Tony agrees but still feels as if he’s missing something important.

*oOo*  
Three hours.

Enough to watch a movie, make dinner _and_ watch a movie. Maybe even do the laundry, he thinks with a little laugh. Surely enough to re-design each and every fucking joint in the suit. He could do it; he knows, he’s done it before for god’s sake.

The question really comes down to what could the agents, these cryptic agents from Hydra, do to one super soldier and one top notch assassin in three hours, that is, the three hours they were overdue for check in? 

Walking to stare out the window of the Helicarrier, Tony scrubs nails through his hair and shakes his head. He should not be standing here being Fury’s little lap dog. Jesus, he’s better than that, he does his own thing; he flies to his own tune, not to anyone else’s. Every muscle, every tendon is tense and feels like it might pop. He needs something to do, he wants something to do. He strides back to the command center of the bridge and takes up a position next to Barton. 

“This happens all the time, on ops. It does,” Barton says and Tony wonders if it is more to reassure him than it is to calm him down. Barton’s in that weird vest shirt thing that he likes to wear and his arms are folded over his chest so that when he barely moves he can flex muscles and be threatening.

“I’m not surprised, with SHIELD running things the way they are,” Tony mutters and Barton offers him a scowl in response. 

“Hell, I don’t see you doing anything but standing around waiting for your curtain call, Tin Man,” Barton snaps. 

Tony boils, but turns on his heel and starts down the corridor. He hates, absolutely hates it, when he has to admit someone else is right. But there’s a good fucking reason he hasn’t donned the suit and crashed soldier boy’s party. There’s a good reason, he mumbles, but then he’s running through the passageways and yelling at people to get out of the fucking way. People stagger and stumble to make room as he presses through the traffic.

He made a promise, but he’s officially revoking that promise because it has been three god damned hours since Captain fucking America checked in and they have no idea what is going on in the warehouse down in the industrial section of Los Angeles.

Sure, he promised, sure he told Steve he would not interfere until he was called to do so. The echoes of their fight still bash inside his head like blasts from his repulsors. They make his eyes hurt. Following the discussion on the strategy, Tony had stopped Steve outside his quarters on the Helicarrier.

_“Just what the hell are you doing?” Tony had said as he grabbed Steve by the shoulder and turned him._

_“What? Tony, this is my job,” Steve said as he input the code to enter the small but comfortable room. Tony invited himself in._

_“Your job?” Tony spat back. “This is your life. They know who you are; you can’t go waltzing in there. They will know in seconds it’s you.”_

_“I understand that, so does Director Fury, so does Natasha.” Steve said as he tossed his bomber coat on the small single bed. It didn’t even look long enough to hold Steve._

_“Then why the fuck isn’t Barton going instead of you? Shit, if they’re sending you, why aren’t I going?”_

_“One thing at a time,” Steve said and raised his hands again like he did on the bridge. “Clint isn’t a bodyguard. He’s a long range fighter, thus the archery. I’m hand to hand like Nat and can better support her.”_

_“They know your face.” He’d said each word like it was a separate curse._

_“I know they do. That’s part of the plan,” Steve admitted and walked over to the small sink alcove area in the room. “Natasha’s going to bring me in as a bounty.”_

_“What? She’s playing Princess Leia and you’re Chewbecca getting into Jabba’s palace? Are you nuts? It didn’t work for them; it isn’t going to work for you.”_

_Steve had rubbed his temples then and closed his eyes. “Seriously, I have no idea what you’re talking about or who these other people are.” Steve dropped his arms and said, “They have the warehouse complex armed to the gills. We can’t just walk in there. It’s in the heart of the industrial district. You saw it, Tony. You know if we tried to blast our way in, there will be civilian casualties, and I won’t have that.”_

_“So sacrificing yourself is okay?”_

_“I’m not sacrificing anyone.”_

_Tony had searched his face, his eyes, anything to get any idea that the man understood the dangers. All he saw was his confidence, all he saw was the same thing Tony always felt as he walked into a fight: complete and utter confidence, which was probably closer to arrogance when he stripped it bare._

_“You don’t get to do this,” Tony said and he used the firmest voice he could, he didn’t lower his gaze or back down when Steve tilted his head in question and that furrow appeared in the middle of his forehead. “I won’t allow it.”_

_In a whispered but urgent voice he had replied to Tony’s order. “I’m the captain of the team, the leader.” He straightened his shoulders. “And in this capacity, you do not order me, Tony. No, you don’t.” He left the other words unspoken, but they hissed through the air like cold ice submerged in water._

_He’d left it at that, glaring at Steve. Of course, he wanted the last word. He grabbed for it and threw it back in Steve’s face so hard it felt like he slapped him across the face. “Oh I don’t? We’ll see about that, soldier boy.” He exited then, hadn’t given Steve time to retort or come back or even explain._

Deep inside, Tony understands. He knows that Steve is the leader of the team. Logically, rationally, he feels it in his bones. Steve is a good leader; he listens to reason, considers all corners and angles of the problem before taking it on. He doesn’t dictate unless the situation requires it. Tony likes working with him, which is strange for a lone gun. 

Yet, the last days of their relationship and how it has developed cause Tony to rethink, to re-evaluate. One thing is achingly clear; he can admit it now, as he races through the corridors to get to the suit. He knows he’s made a terrible error. In his relationship with Steve, he’s become protective to the point of ownership. He doesn’t like anyone touching his stuff. Steve is his – clear and simple.

He wonders if Steve even comprehends that, and how it might warp their working relationship. As he hits the door to the personal quarters where he stored the suit last night, Hill walks up to him and says, “You’re to meet Agent Barton on the flight deck in thirty minutes.”

“Flight deck, why?”

She indicates the door and waits for him to open it. When he does, she steps inside with him. She taps the keypad to ensure the door closes and then says some code into her wrist band. “We’re secure. Agent Barton has been ordered by Director Fury to go in after Agent Romanova and Captain Rogers.”

“It’s about damned time,” Tony says and drags the suitcase out from under the bed.

“Mister Stark, it is important for you to know that Agent Romanova called for an extraction. An agent will only do that under extreme distress or circumstances.” Her eyes are intense and her voice steady, but there’s something undefinable about her demeanor that rattles him.

“What aren’t you saying?” he asks as he triggers the latch on the case.

“What I’m not saying is that you must get to them as soon as possible,” Hill explains. “The situation is critical and the intel Natasha shared with us indicates that the weapon is not stable and could blow at any minute. A ten block radius is being evacuated as we speak.”

“Christ.” He steps into the suit and as it climbs over him, encasing him, covering him, all he can think about is how she never mentioned Steve – she never mentioned his status at all. Something like a dark pit opens up deep inside of him.

“God damn it.”

 

*oOo*   
Once Fury gives the go ahead -which is about fifty god damned minutes too late for Tony- he takes off from the flight deck of the Helicarrier in a straight dive down to the City of Angels. It’s the middle of the night and he has Captain America’s shield strapped to his back, so he has to compensate for the sheer it creates. Barton follows in a Quinjet and radios him not to enter the identified building without back-up. Surging through the clouds, Tony refuses to confirm his agreement to the strategy. So far, they’ve followed orders and look where that’s gotten them. An A number one spy in need of extraction and no word on an American Hero, plus a weapon about to blow a good portion of the city to ruins. Ten fucking blocks, who the hell do they think they’re kidding?

Like a bullet, he targets the warehouse complex and speeds toward it with a single purpose. JARVIS spits out data and he examines it and throws back commands as fast as he can think, as fast as the jumble of words can get out of his mouth in any sane order. JARVIS calculates the time to landing and its only ten minutes. Tony feels like he’s just swallowed molten lava, ten minutes is too long, far too long for an expert assassin calling for extraction from enemy hands. 

Jesus Fucking Christ. What the hell are they going to find? 

Barton is on his tail in a Quinjet. “Iron Man, your ETA is nine minutes and fifteen seconds, copy?”

“Christ, Hawkeye, tell me something I don’t know,” Tony says and orders JARVIS, “Give me possible collateral damage calculations for all soft targets on the outside of the building.”

“Yes, sir.”

“While you’re at it, is there any way to track the good Captain or our favorite spy with respect to the other occupants of the building?” 

“Without proper calibration and a differential life sign tag, I’m afraid that would be impossible, sir,” JARVIS reports and then adds, “Would you like the calculations on peripheral damage after soft targets are destroyed?”

“Give it to me, JARVIS.” A stream of data flies across his screen and he swears. Too many other buildings with probable innocent occupants, and there is even an old neighborhood not far from the district that has a school and a WAL-MART not far from it. At least, the buildings will just take damage considering the time. “JARVIS, is the area completely evacuated?”

“No, sir, most have not left their homes.”

“Shit.”

“Iron Man, I’m reading multiple hot targets on the rooftop as you’re coming in. They are alerted to our presence and ready,” Hawkeye says. “Your main mission is to get to the weapon and shut it down.”

He’s at war with himself. He knows, rationally, he is the only one who can disable the weapon, the only one with any chance in hell of saving the city. The thought of leaving Steve in anyone else’s hands is just too difficult. “My main mission is to get Steve out of there,” Tony hisses. “You do whatever the hell you like.”

“Iron Man, your mission is the weapon. Do not deviate from the mission. I cannot tell you how supremely angry the Director-.”

“Don’t fucking tell me how pissed off Fury is going to be. He fucking let that egotistical bastard walk in through the front door and give himself up,” Tony says. “If anyone is fucking pissed, it’s me.”

“I need you to-.”

“Shut it, Clint. It isn’t going to happen,” Tony says and he knows, knows deep in his bones, he’s being unreasonable. He gets that way with people he loves, with people he cares for, that he thinks of as family. There are so few people like that in his life. Pepper. Steve. He doesn’t have a lot in his life. He’s a pauper when it comes to family. He will not lose Steve. First Steve – he promises himself, and then the reactor.

JARVIS interrupts his thoughts. “Sir, a communication is coming in through a channel that is not SHIELD encrypted.”

“Patch it through but secure it so it won’t be out there for the whole world to hear,” Tony says, thinking it must be the crappy ass villains of the day they are dealing with. 

“Stark?”

“Barton? What the hell?” He’s less than three minutes to target and those guys hanging out on the rooftop are going to start firing at him any minute. He does not need this distraction.

“Please, go after the weapon. I’ll make sure Steve is okay.”

“Wha-.”

“Tasha means a lot to me, too. Just do it, please. Steve will be fine. I swear it,” Barton says.

“Fuck a duck,” Tony says and looks at the jet flying over his left shoulder. “You damned well better make sure, Clint.”

“I will,” Barton says and gives him a wave as they enter into the air space above the building.

Three men with high powered assault rifles immediately take aim at Tony and he wastes no time laying down a round of threatening fire. When none of them take the hint, he has to redirect his weaponry and he aims to hit with deadly force. It isn’t something he enjoys, but it is something that they’ve earned, so he won’t let it bother him at night – okay, maybe not every night.

He lands on the rooftop of the two story warehouse and decides it would probably be better to take flight again and bust through one of the windows. As he launches himself in the air again, Barton lands the jet in the empty parking lot. 

“Can I get some suppressing fire, Iron Man?” Hawkeye requests as the jet opens.

“You got it big bird.” Tony hovers over the parking lot and hits the building with a series of shots made to cause the most of a light show without really causing damage. No use breaking things down when they don’t have a good idea of what they are dealing with yet.

There’s enough smoke for Barton to make his way through without too many direct shots. Tony swings around and aims toward the windows; just as he does, he also notices there is an army of squad cars, U.S. Army Hummers, and SHIELD vehicles appearing on the scene. Well, at least the perimeter has been constructed. 

“Hawk, make sure our guys on the perimeter understand the risk,” Tony says and then he rockets forward, crashing through a window.

After that, things get a little crazy, a little too chaotic even for Tony. Assailants come at him from every direction and he’s fighting in not only a three-sixty arc but also on a vertical so that his battle is three dimensional. He’s on the upper floor of the warehouse, which is actually a platform with offices overlooking the main event on the floor below. There is a catwalk with a metal stairway to the first floor. 

A barrage of fire power hits him and he answers with a spray from his own weapons. He catapults off the platform and heads to the main floor. Most of the first floor holds the weapon which consists of a bastardization of his arc reactor technology. It isn’t well designed; it doesn’t even look well built, more cobbled together than anything. Worse than anything he’s rigged together in his basement workshop.

As he careens over the floor-sized weapon, he calls out his observations to Hawkeye, “There are offices on the second floor mezzanine. Might want to look there, but I think the real-.” He stops because he has to let out another round of blasts to protect himself and get closer to the weapon to inspect it. “The real deal is probably on the main floor. Off to the right from where you entered, there looks to be a door or something. Not sure. JARVIS?”

“City plans show it opens to a second bay of the warehouse.”

“Maybe there?” Tony orders as another explosion of flames hits too close for comfort. All of his weapons are engaged and he has to get to the consoles near the weapon to be able to shut it down. The circular reactor vibrates and heaves as if it’s a breathing, living thing. 

“Iron Man, I’m in and searching the second bay area. There are ship cargo-sized containers.”

He tries not to let the words distract him, but he knows what Barton is telling him. It might take too much time. He can hear the strain in Barton’s voice; the anxiety thins it and rakes it. 

“Just find them,” Tony says and he forces himself to get to work on the weapon. 

To get to the consoles, he lands and every weapon he has is on display. Without the mercy he knows he should show, he fires a round dispersing the oncoming attackers. Most he hits outright, others scatter and race for cover. He gets to the consoles and there’s a little man hiding underneath the desk. 

He points his wrist armament at the man. “Get out.” The man whimpers only once but scuttles away like the insect he is. “Give me some good news, JARVIS?”

“I’m afraid that would be impossible, sir. The weapon is unstable and the containment of its core elements is corrupted, a catastrophic failure is imminent. Estimated kill range is at least a three mile radius for instant death, at five miles-.”

“Seriously, I do not need to know that,” Tony says and then asks, “Tell me how do I stop it?” 

He only half asks JARVIS how to do this, because he knows he has to spend the time analyzing the streams of data flooding the screens. Luckily, their security is a joke and he’s able to get into every single one of the systems without an issue. He’s retracted the gloves and gauntlets and works through every support system and application he can. 

Shit, he’s the world’s only expert on the arc reactor technology and this is a cake walk – except that it isn’t. He has to keep stopping to fend off attackers, but that’s not what’s bugging him. It’s the radio silence from Hawkeye – no reports, nothing.

“Come on, Legolas, give me something?” He taps out a code to infiltrate their main operating system on the weapon while raising his left arm and pointing the elbow to send another explosive toward an advancing attacker. This one is large enough that it should discourage any one of them for a long time.

While he waits for word on Steve, he activates his vocal protocols to magnify his voice. “All dickheads in the building let it be known your little science project here is about to explode in your faces. That means you will all be dead, if you don’t let me finish up. Seriously, doesn’t matter how far away you think you can run, unless you’re Captain Kirk and can beam out of here, you are shit out of luck. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

The place gets eerie after that because all enemy fire aimed at him silences and they target the outside. He can hear a distant spray of bullets and can only imagine it might be Hawkeye with Steve and Natasha.

“Kill my friends, I let you die,” Tony announces but keeps on working. All he needs to do is find the right subroutine and he has it. It doesn’t take a genius; this stuff is like child’s play in his hands. The computer programmer must have been a sixth grader, for Christ’s sake. 

He confirms the faulty containment, re-writes what he can of the program, but there’s something else wrong. “Shit, shit, shit.” The core is still hot, too hot. He can stabilize it; contain it, but not enough. Not nearly enough. Not in the short time he has, he’d literally have to get in there and rebuild it. “Hawk, tell me you have them because this place is going to get hot, very soon and very fast.”

“Got ‘em,” Barton quips but doesn’t elaborate. 

Looking up from the consoles to the storage room, Tony sees a brief flash of an arrow as it strikes a target. A man falls from above. The assailants have turned their attack on Hawkeye.

“Someone did not get the memo,” Tony comments and turns quickly as his arms and hands are covered once again. “Give me a countdown, JARVIS? How long until she fails?”

“Core containment failure in t minus three minutes, sir.”

“I wrote code to add extra shielding. It will buy us time and won’t obliterate the city, but we still have to get out of here, Hawkeye, the containment filters are failing.” 

Tony can’t launch, there’s not enough room and he can barely make out Hawkeye and the flash of a red head across the expanse of the reactor and the smoke from all the weapons fire. He tries not to think of the fact he can’t find Steve in the battle haze. Instead, he turns to the now-gathering attackers and discharges another round. 

“I managed to stabilize it enough so that getting a safe distance is possible, but we have to get out now,” Tony yells over the communication link. But all he’s thinking is _where the hell is Steve, find Steve._

And then he sees him, the smoke clears enough that he sees him from across the warehouse floor, through the structure of the bastardized arc reactor. Pinned against the far wall with Natasha and Barton as his companions, Steve focuses on the troop of men scrambling down the metal staircase. There’s too many of them and they’re getting too close for Hawkeye to take out. Tony can’t do much from his position because any shot slightly off or a stray bullet could possibly make a bad situation worse for the reactor.

He races toward them but he won’t get there on time. He doesn’t have a clear shot, not without possibly hitting them or the reactor. So he does the only thing he knows might help.

“Steve,” he calls and yanks the shield off his back. Tony knows he only has one chance at this. When he tried to throw the shield once before he gave himself a mild concussion and very nearly split Captain America’s spinal column in two. He tries to remember what Steve taught him about the shield but gives up and says, “What the hell.” 

He pitches it.

Steve turns as it spins toward him, and even Tony can see the trajectory is off. It won’t hit the mark by a few meters. In one graceful motion, Steve propels himself into the air, grabs the shield, twists, and flings it toward the oncoming attackers. The shield impacts off of one and hits another as it ricochets. Black Widow follows Steve and, with a move Tony didn’t think possible, strikes the last goon in the throat with both of her high heeled boots and still manages to land on her feet.

Tony crosses the warehouse and waves for them to follow him. “Out now, we don’t have time for this.” He notices large smears of blood down both of Steve’s arms. He doesn’t seem to be any worse for wear at the moment, so Tony doesn’t mention it. 

Steve gathers up his shield and, as he stands, wavers almost imperceptibly. Tony doesn’t have time to think because the next thing he knows the weapon shudders and sparks crackle through the air. He seizes Steve’s elbow and directs them to the nearest exit. 

The reactor’s core spouts out pure streams of energy as if it is unleashing lightning within the confines of the building. Just as they round the corner toward the door, it bursts out a tongue of molten matter that reminds Tony of solar flares. It separates Tony and Steve from Barton and Natasha. 

“I’m gonna have to fly us out,” Tony says into the communication link. “Get out, and get away.”

“Copy that, I’ve confirmed the perimeter troops have retreated to a safe distance,” Hawkeye states and adds, “Get out, Tin Man.”

“Just as long as I have Toto safe I will,” Tony says and turns to Steve. Steve is desperately quiet and doesn’t remark about the fact that Tony just referred to him as a dog. This terrifies him more than the fact they’re standing not twenty feet from a core about the rupture. 

Wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist, he says, “I need you to raise the shield and protect your head because we’re going through the ceiling.” 

Steve nods and lifts the shield. As Tony focuses upward, he notices the tremor in Steve’s arm; the muscles are trembling as if the fibers are strained to their limits. He wonders what the hell happened over the hours Steve had been imprisoned with these creeps. 

“Steve?” Tony says, ignoring the increasing heat from the core.

“Just go,” Steve replies through clenched teeth. “I can’t do this for long.”

Tony doesn’t question, doesn’t think – or least he tries not to think. The possibilities and the fact that Steve’s arms are stained with blood block out any sensible thoughts. He forces himself to concentrate and he says, “Lift off.”

He crashes them through the rooftop right as it crumples under a blast from his repulsor. He hits the roof at top speed but that does nothing to stop what happens next. As he angles them toward the perimeter to meet up with the army of agents, soldiers, and policemen waiting for them, the reactor reaches its inevitable end. 

The detonation rocks through the building, a great wave hits them and since Steve is holding the shield at the opposite angle, the vibration impacts them at full force. It causes them to tumble and Tony loses his grasp on Steve. Even as he uses his thrusters to stabilize his flight , a secondary blast wave strikes them. Steve attempts to cover himself with the shield, but he’s seconds too late and his body hurtles through the air without control. Tony’s too slow as he tries to catch him. Steve smashes against the side of a brick building and slides as lifeless as a doll down the side until he lands, crumpled, on the pavement below.

For a breath, for a few seconds, Tony literally stops flying, and if it wasn’t for JARVIS he would have followed Steve to crash next to him. Instead, his trustworthy A.I. brings him to a safe landing next to the unconscious form. He tears away his faceplate and kneels next to Steve’s inert form. He can hear sirens in the distance, can feel the heat of the ravaged remains of the weapon playing the air, yet. He acknowledges none of it, what he does focus on is Steve.

A large bloody gash runs the length of the right side of his face. His hair is a mass of red. Blood streams from his nose. His shoulder doesn’t look right but Tony isn’t concentrating on that. He’s calling out Steve name over and again.

“Steve? Steve, come on, Steve,” Tony says as he crouches by his side. He grabs hold of his shoulder and says, “Steve? Please, Steve.”

“Sir, he is still alive,” JARVIS reports in the communications link still hooked up to his ear. 

Tony bows his head and closes his eyes as he keeps a grip on Steve. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Medic?” He hears Natasha call and he looks up to see she’s raced over to them. Dark smudges smear across her face and, for the first time, he notices blood splattered across her blouse and pants. “It isn’t mine.”

When Tony doesn’t ask, she supplies, “It’s Steve’s. I’m surprised he could even walk considering how much blood volume he lost.”

“What?” Tony says as two paramedics carrying a gurney and medical equipment join them. Tony isn’t looking at them, though. He studies Steve, trying to find the wounds other than the ones he just received from playing full body tackle with the side of a building. 

“Sir, we need to treat him,” one of the paramedics says, but Tony isn’t letting go. He’s never fucking ever going to let go. The paramedic, a small Hispanic woman with dark springy hair, says, “Please, sir, you’re wasting time. He has a head injury.”

“He’s probably gone into hypovolemic shock as well,” Natasha states.

“Come on, Tony,” Barton says and hauls Tony away from Steve.

The firelight from the building, the crater in the center of it, the smoke, the lights, and the noise of all of it fades and dims into the distance. He stumbles away and watches as two strangers strap Steve to a stretcher and take him away.

The words Natasha said form in Tony’s brain, start to make sense, but then don’t, so that he has to look at her and in the glowing light of the fire ask, “Hypovolemic shock?”

“Yes,” Natasha says and looks away. It isn’t shame he sees in her, but fear, and horror. “They were trying to drain him of his blood.”

“What?” None of it is making any sense. “They wanted to what-.”

“They were taking all of his blood, Tony. You were right; there was a difference in personas. Sure,” she says. “They wanted to assassinate Captain America, but Steve Rogers they wanted for the serum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went over and over it and read through so many sources about Natasha last name. Romanoff, Romanov, Romanova. I went with the least used Romanova because I think it is the one with the best linguist reasoning behind it. If it is wrong, I apologize.
> 
> One more chapter and it is with my beta reader now. It is LONG. It is double the size of all the other chapters, so please give my lovely beta a chance to finish it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for reading


	6. CONFESSION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony must come to terms with his love for Steve. As he copes with Steve's injuries, Tony tries to accept their relationship and his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to give HUGE thanks to rabidchild67 for all of her great work as beta. She did a great job and she helped make the chapters so much better! I owe her big time!

CHAPTER 6

In the dull gray light of twilight, he sits and stares out a large window. The window doesn’t open; it’s like one of those windows in a high rise, but this isn’t a high rise. He watches as the rain pours down to darken every shadow, to pull every hope out of him. Even in sunny California it rains, rains so hard mountains turn to mud and fall into the ocean. He just watches as it rains; he watches and waits.

He’s read all the literature, after all he is a genius. He knows what hypovolemic shock is. He knows those bastards drained more than a fifth of Steve’s blood volume from him. He should have been dead; Christ, he was a dead man walking. The stupid idiots thought they could deplete him of the serum and distill it from his blood. What the hell were they thinking? What the hell kind of scientists and medical personnel did they employ?

The serum changed Steve, at his core. Sure, it had that instantaneous effect of transforming his body, muscle, bone, blood vessels, and nerves. And how the hell much did _that_ hurt? The lasting effects, the heightened metabolism, the eidetic memory, the strength, the increased healing ability had nothing to do with some unidentifiable component floating around in Steve’s blood stream. He’d been changed within his cellular components at the germ cell and progenitors – his genome had been rewritten. The only proof of the serum’s make up is long gone, the only proof it existed at all is the living evidence of Steve.

A tremor shivers through him and he bows his head and closes his eyes. Christ, they almost lost him. Losing so much blood put a strain on his heart and threatened organ failure. He’s still not out of the woods, yet. Steve’s body knows what to do, the doctors assured them. His body has pumped up production of blood cells: erythrocytes, lymphocytes, thrombocytes, basophils, neutrophils, eosinophils, and monocytes – or so he read about late last night as he waited for the reports. They haven’t given Steve any pints of blood because his body has been in overdrive and they aren’t sure what would happen if they tried. So, they treated the other wounds and waited. 

From slamming into the building at blast speed, Steve had a concussion but thankfully his serum-enhanced head served as a good helmet. His shoulder needed to be popped back into place but was already showing signs of healing correctly. A scattering of broken ribs plague him. There are cuts and bruises along his flank that have turned from angry red-purple to blues. It will take longer for everything to heal due to the loss of blood volume and the healing factors within the serum..

He just wants to hear Steve’s voice. Sometime in the middle of their treatment regimen, Steve shifted from being unconscious to sleeping according to the doctors. They had been lucky, Steve had been fortunate because his body induced him to remain unconscious during the most painful parts of his treatment. The doctors have hypothesized that his body needs the sleep in order to heal and they shouldn’t disrupt this accelerated healing processes. But Tony needs to hear his voice, needs to know he’s okay.

As if on cue, a cough, and then a hoarse voice from behind him says, “Tony?”

He turns and sees Steve looking around as if he’s lost. He blinks and fumbles with his hands on the bed, as if searching for something. “Tony, where?” He stops and coughs again. “I’m cold, why am I cold?” 

Tony pulls out his phone and hits an application on it. “JARVIS?”

“All SHIELD surveillance devices have been neutralized, sir.”

Grabbing the extra blanket from the stack on the chair, Tony goes to Steve and opens it up, leans over Steve, helps him sit up, and wraps the blanket over his shoulders. “We’re safe, babe. JARVIS has us covered.”

Steve frowns, the furrow appearing as he focuses on Tony. “Weren’t we at the Lake?”

Reaching for the bottle of water on the side table, Tony offers it to Steve but only allows him small sips. Intravenous lines snake up his forearms and he stares at them as if they might be vipers. While the doctors won’t give him any whole blood, they are pumping him full of fluids and glucose to maintain his electrolyte balance and his nutrients. Steve raises his arms as if to show the evidence to Tony, silently quizzing him. 

Sidling onto the gurney, Tony cradles Steve in his arms and says, “We were on a mission.”

“Mission,” Steve nods and lays his head on Tony’s shoulder. “Okay.”

There has never been a time Tony has felt stronger, larger, and tougher than Steve until this moment. While Steve is solid in his arms, he feels like he is that porcelain doll everyone is afraid he might be, breaking and shattering. “You don’t remember.”

“I feel weak, I haven’t-.” Steve stops and moves his legs around on the bed. “What happened? Tony?” He’s panting in swallow breaths. “I’m so weak. And cold, very cold.” 

Tony kisses Steve's forehead and feels like someone has carved out a hole in his chest, digging out his heart, and leaving the arc reactor as an empty promise. “You lost a lot of blood, you’re still weak. The doctors said you’ll be confused for a while.”

Using his thumb, Tony runs small circles over Steve’s temple, massaging his fingers in his hair. Steve shivers against the cold, but his skin is clammy with sweat. “Babe, the doctors said you’ll be feeling better soon, but they can’t give you any blood to replace what you lost. They are giving you fluids and glucose. Should make you feel a little better.”

“A mission?” Steve says.

“Yes,” Tony says and doesn’t find it necessary to explain in detail. “Sleep, I’ll be right here.” He eases Steve back onto the bed and waits until the exhaustion overcomes Steve again, until his eyelids are too heavy to keep open, and the questions still flittering over his face disappear. His expression softens and he falls asleep.

“JARVIS, monitor him,” Tony says and places his phone on the side of the bed. Pushing aside the curtain, Tony peers over his shoulder once to ensure that Steve is well and truly asleep before he ventures out into the hallway of the main infirmary of SHIELD HQ-west. 

He leaves the infirmary bay where Steve rests and searches the central nursing station for the medical staff. No one is there and he’s more than pissed. “Hey! What the fuck is this? You have Captain America nearly dead in your triage bay and no one’s here watching his vitals. Son of a-.”

A nurse races out of another bay and holds up her hands and says, “Mister Stark-.”

“No, no, you do not get to mess with me, lady. Why the hell is there no one monitoring, Captain Rogers?” Tony points to the empty nurse’s station.

“I am monitoring him, sir,” she says and her eyes are not unkind, but patient and quiet. Her expression very nearly soothes him, but he’s on the edge of anger and pain and needing to turn into a rage monster himself. 

“I don’t see how, unless-.”

She pulls out a small tablet from her lab coat and shows it to him. Displayed before him across the screen are all of Steve’s read-outs. She places a hand on his arm, and smiles. “While I’m checking on other duties, my primary concern is Captain Rogers. I keep this data feed open and constant at all times.”

“Oh,” he says and feels a little cowed by her soft grey eyes and halo of gray-white hair. “Okay, then how much do you earn a year?”

She stutters to answer him and then a doctor strides up to him. “I heard there was a commotion?” 

“I’m not a commotion,” he snaps and turns back to the older nurse. “I’ll double it, whatever you make. You’re coming with me.”

“What?” the nurse says and looks to the doctor for guidance.

“No, don’t, don’t do that, otherwise I’ll rescind my offer. I need someone to watch over Steve. I’m checking him out of here and bringing him to my place in Malibu.” Tony hadn’t even planned any of this, but suddenly and completely he needs to do this, he has to do this. Steve is his, and nobody plays with his stuff.

“Captain Rogers is not in any conditions to be discharged,” the doctor states and fixes an expression on Tony which leans toward pity.

“Let me guess, ten percent of your class and you did a rotation or two in dealing with super soldiers?” Tony goads.

“Yes, I-. But I-.”

Tony waves him off and rolls his eyes. “Listen, Doctor, I’m not the man you want to piss off right now. I’m the man who is going to take Captain America to my home whether or not you agree. I am also the man who could make your life either very good or very bad.” Tony waits for that to sink in. “Now, Nurse?”

“Oh, Mister Stark, you can call me Annie,” she says and smiles at him. Her gray eyes dance in the fluorescent lighting. He likes her, she reminds him of grandmas and apple pie. He decides at some point he needs pie, and so does Steve.

He probably also needs sleep.

“Okay, Annie, can you prepare Captain Rogers for transport? We’ll be leaving within the hour, once I get in touch with my driver. Or someone,” he says and then frowns. He’s not even sure Happy is on this side of the country.

“Now see here,” Doctor Predictable begins.

Thankfully, a voice from behind Tony interrupts them and warms Tony’s heart. “I studied a lot about the human body, medicine, etcetera during my investigations into the super soldier serum, I can ensure Captain Rogers’ safety.”

“Bruce!” Tony opens his arms and seizes the slightly – okay not slightly but very – disheveled man into his arms. “A sight for sore eyes, and, Christ, do you look sore. Where the hell have you been?”

Bruce runs a hand through his thick and knotty mop of hair, quirks a smile and says, “Here and there. I’m in town for a bit, thought I’d stop by. Heard about a giant meteorite hitting L.A. and figured SHIELD was behind that one.”

“Wow, what a crap ass cover story that is,” Tony says and slaps Bruce on the shoulder. When it doesn’t even elicit a wince, Tony shakes his head. “You are the man, you know. Complete control and zen, huh?”

“Something like that,” Bruce says with a mild chuckle. “Now, Doctor, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see his chart?”

“I don’t think you can, that would be against HIPAA.”

Tony raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Don’t worry, Jolly Green, I’ll get it for you. Come, Annie, we’ve got plans, things to do, people to see. Soldier boys to take care of. Well, soldier boy.” He doesn’t waste time and ushers them back to the bay where Steve is resting.

As Tony pulls back the curtain, Bruce peers in and hisses. “Not good. He looks worse than he did after the Chitauri.”

“He played full body tackle with a brick building.” Tony whispers and picks up his phone. “JARVIS, please transfer all of Steve’s medical files to your servers and have them accessible at my command.”

“Done, sir.”

Tony wiggles the phone and says, “Easy peasy.” He looks back at Steve and, though there is a slight fluttering of eyelashes – those long beautiful lashes – he does not wake. Something deep and heavy tugs at him and he glances back at Bruce before he can control his own features.

Ever the gentleman, Bruce bows his head and waits a moment before he looks up again, giving Tony time to conceal the emotion, to hide it and wrap it under layers of flippant arrogance – the expected Tony Stark.

“Now, what else do you need Doctor?” Tony asks.

“A medical degree would be nice,” Bruce says and walks to the bedside of their once and future leader. “But Annie will do. I do suggest we give him another day here before we move him out. Just to make sure he doesn’t go into cardiac arrest. He’s lost so much blood and even with the fluids they’re adding, that won’t help as much as you would think.”

“You just arrived and you know so much?” Tony asks.

“Let’s just say a certain bird whispered in my ear,” Bruce replies. “Are you agreed? We move him tomorrow once we have some more blood counts on him and he can stay awake more than a few minutes at a time.”

Tony wants to say no, but he has to trust Bruce. He desperately wants to touch Steve, grasp his hand, but he remains frozen in place. “Just tell me he’ll be okay.”

“He will,” Bruce says. “But it wouldn’t hurt to remind him he’s not alone.” Bruce says and smiles. “Annie, let’s talk strategies.”

Banner waves for the nurse to follow him out. She smiles at Tony before she trails after Bruce. Left alone in the room with Steve, Tony drags an empty chair over to his bedside and hangs on to his hand. He cannot find solace, not when Steve’s hand is like ice, like the cold of the grave.

*oOo*  
After two more days, Steve is able to sit up in bed and antagonize Tony relentlessly about the most mundane things. They moved him when Bruce decided it wouldn’t be dangerous and the doctors at SHIELD finally acceded to Tony’s wishes. Fury grumbled more than usual, but somehow a word with Barton seemed to calm him down.

Tony has to admit that the Hawk has some good attributes that extend beyond his bulging biceps. It is Natasha, though, who assists in the move. She attends to acquiring the ambulance to move Steve and even ends up being the driver, since Tony cannot get Happy across the country in time. Both Pepper and Happy plan to fly to California within the week. It feels right and good and brings a kind of peace Tony isn’t used to when he thinks of all of these people quietly pitching in to help Steve. He knows Steve is the reason they are congregating at his house in Malibu, checking in and verifying that Captain America is still with them.

It occurs to Tony he has yet to debrief with Fury, and does not know what the outcome of the weapon’s explosion is. He tells himself, he needs to face reality, find out what Hydra is up to, what kind of damage overall to the organization did they sustain, and who the hell is heading up this new incarnation of Hell’s minions..

He spends half of his day reading medical books and having JARVIS delve into human physiology while he digs through old crates and boxes his father left him looking for clues on Rebirth. He needs more information, if he’s to protect Steve he must document everything that Steve can and cannot do from the very beginning.

Evidently, Steve knows how to dance with chorus girls.

He flips through pages and pages of scrawled notes from his father. They did a number of tests on Steve before he was shipped off to be a dancing monkey, but after he returned to the front lines and ended up working with Howard again – there were observations and notes. None of them helpful to Tony, but all of them interesting. 

“JARVIS, access all information on Steve Rogers aka Captain America from the SHIELD database.”

“That may take some time, sir. All information regarding Steve Rogers aka Captain America is restricted and held at the highest security levels.”

“Well, if you need help, you know who to call,” Tony says.

“I am not sure I have Doctor Richards’ phone number,” JARVIS replies.

“Everyone’s a comedian,” Tony retorts and sets the notebook aside. He should check on Steve, but the Malibu mansion is teeming with people and he wants Steve to himself. Steve probably isn’t even up anyway. “JARVIS, time?”

“It is five thirty eight in the morning, sir. It is Tuesday.” 

Damn, he curses inwardly. It’s been more than two days since they transferred Steve. He’s been holed up down here for nearly four days. He scrubs a hand along his jaw and feels the prickle of his unshaved beard. Blinking, he decides that maybe the time is as good as any to check on Steve. He could relieve Annie from duty and sit with him for a bit.

His body feels like gelatin as he makes it to the first floor, bypassing Dummy as he rolls into an earlier version of the suit. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he mumbles.

Before he realizes it, and that probably means he fell asleep while walking up the stairs which is all kinds of weird and a new one for him, he’s on the main floor ambling toward the kitchen. He considers whether or not it would really damage his brain just to have a cup of coffee and get back down to the workshop. He hadn’t even touched his upgrades to the suit; he’s only just stared at what he found out about Steve. He needs a medical degree, maybe that is something he should work on during his spare time. He chuckles a bit to himself as he gazes into the refrigerator.

“You know according to what I understand, it’s better to shut the icebox and decide what you want and then open it. More energy efficient that way.”

Tony jumps and spins around to find Steve sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal in front of him and a cup of something steaming.

“Crap.” He slams the refrigerator closed and digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, then looks back up at Steve. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

Steve glances down at the bowl in front of him and then back up at Tony. “Eating.”

“Very funny,” Tony says and slumps down into a chair across the table from him. “You should be resting.”

“You should be sleeping.”

When Steve slurps down some more of the cereal, Tony cringes and lays his head down on the table. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“That’s funny, because it looks like you’re about to fall asleep right now.”

“Lots to do, you know, billionaire, playboy, etcetera, whatever, you know the spiel.” He waves his hand above his head but doesn’t open his eyes.

Steve digs in for more cereal and says, “Did you call Bruce in on this?”

Tony lifts his head up and settles for cradling his face in his hands. “No, though I have my suspicions that bird boy is up to no good. But in this case, I’ve decided he done good.”

“Done good, huh?” Steve sits back and spreads out his incredibly long legs. “I don’t need Bruce to come all the way from who knows where to play nursemaid to me.” He crosses his arms over his chest. 

Tony focuses on Steve, really looks at him. His complexion is still in the white-to-death end of the scale, but at least his lips are pinking up. The crushed look has almost completely faded, while he still has a slight gash along the right side of his forehead. It shouldn’t take this long for a cut to close up, but that’s assuming no other major injuries. He has to start logging this stuff.

“Bruce isn’t your nursemaid, Annie is.”

“She’s working around the clock taking care of me like I’m an invalid, Tony. I’m not a weakling.” Steve pushes the chair back, goes to stand up, has to steady himself as the change causes a blood pressure drop, Tony is sure, and then turns and puts the bowl in the sink. “I can take care of myself. I gave Annie the next few days off.”

“What?” Tony leaps to his feet and glowers at the idiot. “You can’t do that. You lost over twenty percent of your blood volume.”

“I’m not-.”

Tony raises his hands and says, “No, you’re not. You’re Captain America who was just tortured, drained of his blood like he’s vampire food, and tossed against a brick building. You need to rest and take care of yourself.”

“And you don’t?” Steve says and his face finally has some color in it. “Look at you. When was the last time you ate or slept? What is so important down in your workshop that you can’t take care of yourself, that you can’t take care of m-.” He swallows down the words and looks away from Tony. 

Tony takes a step forward, but he telegraphs his intention and Steve backs away. “Steve, I-.”

“Listen, I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m fine. Just don’t force the responsibilities on some else’s shoulders. I’m a grown man and the leader of the team,” Steve says with determination but his eyes look lost and desperate. “I’m just-.” He shakes his head. “Thanks for moving me here. It’s better than the medical bay at SHIELD.” He gestures at Tony as if he’s about to leave.

“No,” Tony states and puts the fiercest sound to it he can. “No, you are not walking away.”

“I think I am.” Steve heads past Tony toward the living room. As he goes to exit, Tony catches his elbow and is startled by how cold Steve’s skin is. In only a murmur, Steve says, “Tony.”

“Babe,” Tony mouths the word and isn’t sure any voice comes out. He’s too busy searching Steve’s face, seeing the hurt there. Tony knows he’s screwing up again – he does this – it is part of his profile. “Let me try.”

Steve presses his lips together and inhales once before he nods his head and starts out of the kitchen. Tony follows behind him. The house feels empty but Tony knows that Annie is in one of the guest rooms, as is Bruce. He’s heard or seen both Natasha and Barton lurking about throughout the days, so he’s certain they either show up early or disappear late. Either way, this is becoming grand central Avenger station.

Steve opens the door to his room and allows Tony to step inside. He pushes the door closed, locks it, and says, “JARVIS, please do not permit any entrance into my bedroom without my permission or Tony’s.”

“As you say, Captain Rogers.”

Grasping Tony’s hand, Steve leads him to the bed. With only a light push, Tony sinks onto the bed and sits. “You need sleep.”

“So do you. You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest.” He drops to his knees in front of Tony. “After I help you.” He reaches for Tony’s belt, his zipper, and before Tony can struggle away Steve has Tony’s jeans open and his flaccid penis out. 

“Steve,” Tony says and for the first time in probably his whole damned life he’s reluctant to receive a blow job. 

He stops from continuing his protestations when Steve sticks his entire index finger in his mouth and sucks on it, drawing it out slowly, lingering with his tongue curled around it. Steve takes his wet finger and glances it around the tip of Tony’s now awakening dick. Tony moves around on the bed, still sitting up but feeling exposed and open. 

Steve grins up at him, and then says, “Just a taste.”

The words harden him further and his abdominal muscles tighten as Steve bends over and pulls his whole cock in his mouth at once. The sensation is overwhelming but serves to immediately wipe away any need for sleep or rest. He places his arms behind him and luxuriates in the feel of Steve’s mouth on him, working him to full erect status.

He shivers into every lick, every swirl of Steve’s tongue as it glides along the tip and then plunges to the root. Tony groans as Steve encourages him further, stroking along the base to his balls. His straight arm balances him and uses his other to lace his fingers through Steve’s hair. Steve drags his tongue along the thick blood vessel and sucks against the head of his cock. Tony grips his hair and slightly pushes him down. Steve follows the unspoken command and loosens his mouth and lowers his chin and tongue to allow Tony more access.

It sends little jets of electricity to his spine that thrill Tony as he closes his eyes and concentrates only on the wet, hot mouth encompassing him. He groans a little more and claws a bit at Steve’s scalp when his dick hits the back of Steve’s throat. Jesus, God Almighty it feels good, it feels like heaven.

Every muscle in his stressed shoulders relaxes into the feel of the wet heat around him, he pumps a little, up into the mouth, and Steve responds by moving his tongue in rhythm to his motion. A shortened grunt issues from Tony and he falls backward onto the soft bed. 

“Christ, yes,” Tony says and opens his eyes but he can see nothing, nothing but darkness and light and fleeting images of memories. Clamping both of his hands on Steve’s head, he holds him there, thrusting up into the willing, waiting mouth. “Deeper, Jesus, Steve, deeper.” And somehow, somehow, Steve complies. His face is mashed against Tony’s crotch, and he can hear the slight choking against the tangle of hair as Steve strives to breathe around the dick in his mouth. The sound is intoxicating.

“All of it, Babe, all of it.” 

Steve laps at him, breaking only for a moment to lick at his root, at his balls until he sinks down over him again and Tony drives upward into his mouth. He doesn’t release Steve’s head, keeps him tight against his dick and shoves again and again. 

“Christ, oh Babe, gonna come, shit.” Tony tears at Steve’s hair while keeping him slammed against his crotch. “Suck, harder, deeper.”

Steve does, he follows orders so god damned well. So fucking well until he sucks the orgasm right out of Tony, until Tony scrapes in air and involuntarily ruts against Steve until he’s depleted and the hot stream of semen floods Steve’s mouth.

“Babe, Babe,” Tony whispers and realizes he’s still grasping Steve’s head, pushing him against his crotch. 

He relaxes his hands and Steve stumbles backward onto his knees. He falters, tries to stand, but staggers and collapses with a hand to his chest. It is only then Tony realizes he’s rasping for air. On his hands and knees, mouth open and come dripping out, Steve rakes in a tortured breath. Tony scrambles from the bed, yanks on his pants, and kneels by Steve’s side with his arm slung over his shoulder. 

“Breathe, breathe, Steve,” Tony says, commands, begs. “God damn it, why don’t you breathe.” He slaps a hand on his back and Steve goes rigid before vomiting a mess of mucous and come all over the carpet. He’s still barely breathing, but his lungs stop wheezing and the tendons in this throat ease up a little.

He bows his head and still can’t take a deep breath, but his arms are shivering from sustaining his weight, so he topples to the side of the mess, the side Tony is sitting on. He falls right into Tony’s arms. Clasping him around the chest, Tony whispers to Steve, “Just breathe with me. Come on breathe, slow and easy.” 

Tony keeps repeating it until Steve’s hiccupping breaths become easier, lighter, until he says, “Geez, that is not how I intended that to go.” Each word has an abnormal space between them as he fights for air.

“I should have known better. You don’t have the red blood cell capacity right now to deal with having your face smashed against my dick,” Tony says. He feels like a thousand kinds of awful. How much more selfish can he get, letting a sick guy give him a blow job.

“Wanted to,” Steve says and he laughs, though it is full of air and painful to hear. “And when, when did you become an expert, expert on bl-blood cell stuff?”

Tony chuckles but it is soft-tinged with sorrow. “Last few days, sport.”

“Oh, oh,” Steve says as it obviously dawns on him what Tony has been doing for the last few days. “Geez, Tony, I-.”

“Shush, just breathe for me. Okay?”

“Hmm,” Steve says and tries to mirror Tony’s rhythm. After a few minutes, as his breathing levels out, he says, “My mom used to do this when I had an asthma attack. Hold me, have me steady out my rhythm with hers.”

“You probably scared the shit out of her,” Tony says and pets Steve’s hair. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

“Give you a crappy blow job and keel over?”

“Crappy? Not even close, babe. Best, and you can do that again, but not now. You’re still weak,” Tony states and it feels like he’s stabbing a puppy. He did, he knows. He fucking had to have a stupid damned blow job, he had to get off. 

“Hmm,” Steve replies and he can feel him relaxing in Tony’s arms. 

“Okay, up and at ‘em. You have to get into bed.”

“The mess,” Steve says and points to the drying puddle of goo. 

Tony frowns at it, but says, “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it.”

He ushers Steve into the bathroom, has him clean up, which includes brush his teeth and washing his face. He leads him back to the bed and pats it. “Time for sleep, big fella.”

“I’m not a dog,” Steve mutters, but he does ease down into the bed. “It’s morning, you know.”

“And people who have been drained by vampires need to rest,” Tony says.

“Will you lie down with me?” 

“Just a sec, let me get this cleaned up.” He points to the carpet and Steve nods, though Tony can tell he’s still embarrassed by the whole thing. Leaning down, Tony kisses his forehead and says, “Sleep.”

He turns to the bathroom to get something to help clean up the mess, when he enters the en suite, he grabs hold of the counter and sways a little. He closes his eyes and swallows hard. What the hell kind of person is he that he would allow something like that to happen? Steve is recuperating from a major injury. Tony let him, encouraged him, to get down on this fucking knees, and suck him off. He pushed his head and nearly smothered Steve. 

He collapses on the closed toilet and puts his head between his legs to stop from hyperventilating. This is wrong. This whole thing is so wrong; they veered off onto the wrong pathway. He sits like that for a bit, and then straightens, resolved. He is Tony fucking Stark, for god’s sake. He can do anything. Opening the door, he peers at Steve, who seems to be asleep. 

As Tony runs a cloth under the hot water tap, he decides to change this, to make it right. The only problem is he’s not entirely sure where he went wrong.

*oOo*  
Within two weeks of the incident, Tony finds out that Steve is back to eviscerating punching bags. He’s eating so much that JARVIS has the grocery delivery increased to three times a week, and twice from a great butcher Tony knows – well, Pepper knows and contacts but still he asked her to look into it. She and Happy have taken up residence in the house as well. It’s like a party with people coming and going and everyone focused on Steve and his health.

Tony feels like a heel most of the time, because he wants them all gone, yet at the same time he’s terrified they might actually leave. Barton and Natasha report that there has been little to no activity on the Hydra front since the warehouse explosion. It still doesn’t settle right, but they will find out who is behind all this shit eventually, he just doesn’t want any more casualties along the way.

Tony spends a good portion of his day in his workshop, playing with the suit, deciding that there has to be a better way. At one point, he sneaks the Captain’s shield into his shop and begins tests on it. He wants to build in some sort of energy source so Steve can throw offensive weapons instead of just a defensive one. He snickers, fireballs would be nice. As he’s trying to figure out how to attach something to the back of it, he hears a startled exclamation and whips around to find Steve with his arms crossed and his brows furrowed.

“Give me back the shield,” Steve says.

“I just-.”

“Nope, give it back,” Steve says and strides right up to him. His color is better, warmer, less dead. 

Before Tony hands over the shield, he says, “Imagine: fireballs.”

“Imagine: your ass in a sling,” Steve says and grabs the shield from Tony.

“You know, this new side of you with the swearing is not very becoming.” Tony says as he leans against the work bench. “It will tarnish your boy scout image.”

“From what I hear, a lot of my new side would damage most of my image with the boy scouts,” Steve says and leers at Tony. He sidles inward for a kiss but Tony dodges. 

“There’s that bad boy attitude again, I suggest you go and work off some of that with another one of those punching bags you love so much,” Tony says and fumbles around with some of his tools on his bench.

“Tony?” Steve looks at him as if he’s trying to figure out something that has to do with electricity. 

He slaps Steve on the arm and walks around him. “Just lots to do today, seriously. Later, I’ll take you out for ice cream or something.” He leaves Steve as he makes his way to a storage closet and can hear Steve mumbling about not wanting ice cream. When Steve finally leaves, Tony exits the closet and decides he needs to drive, he needs to fly. So he does.

In less than a minute, he calls for JARVIS to deploy the latest and greatest Mark edition of the suit. It enwraps him and he feels a little bit of comfort as if he’s actually found his way home again. He shouldn’t smash through the ceiling again, Pepper would be pissed, so he finds his way outside and takes off. He’s not sure how long he flies, but the sun is setting over the water as he lands at Stark Industries headquarters on the West Coast. 

No one stops him as he finds his way through the lobby and into the inner laboratories. A few of the technicians move aside and greet him with ‘sir’, or ‘Iron Man’ or ‘Mister Stark’. One thing he has to do is make the suit a little more flexible for tight spaces and maneuverable for walking and running. It pinches in the groin area a little.

“JARVIS, take note. I do not like my dick pinched every time I walk down steps.”

“So noted, sir. Would you like to discuss your scrotum as well?”

Tony rolls his eyes and says, “Just keep it to yourself and don’t feel me up.”

“I will feel cheated until my last day, sir.”

“I’m sure you will.” Tony passes several laboratories and gets to the last door. It is a locked storage area. He’s never spent much time here, because this is where his father dumped junk that didn’t work, or he couldn’t figure out how it worked. He’s not even sure what drove him here in the first place.

Standing in front of the door, he raises the faceplate, and stares into the Iris recognition input screen. The locks click open and he enters. 

“Lights.” Nothing happens. He turns around, sees the switch, and comments, “How quaint.” He hits it and the storage room illuminates. He wanders around with his faceplate up and his defenses up as well. There’s no one to shoot here, just memories like graffiti on his mind. Last time he dug through his father’s things, he ended up saving his own life. Maybe there’s something here to help him now.

But there isn’t. It is just a room of old junk, and papers, and notes, and discarded experiments. Thoughts and wishes of a man burdened and lost to what was important. God, he doesn’t want that to happen to him. He knows what is important.

He has a family. He can name them all. He’s lucky.

He steps over a pile of metal scraps and notices a door to another room. He’s been down here a thousand times, maybe more. He cannot for the life of him remember what the hell is behind door number one. He stumbles over the mess, curses a few times, and opens the door. It takes a moment to find the lights, but he does.

There’s an old instrument console with big, huge dials like they used back in the day. There’s some sort of tubing lying to the side and in the corner – a coffin. He jumps.

“Shit,” Tony says and reaches to touch it. “Christ.”

He swivels around, and sees a stack of papers next to the console and flips the folder open. 

REBIRTH

Turning back to the coffin, he realizes what he’s seeing. It isn’t truly a coffin. These are his father’s instruments; this is the set up for the vita-ray machine. This is the sealed containment coffin where Steve laid and was transformed. He reaches out to touch it but stops himself.

What the fuck is he doing here? 

He knows he’s been here before, he knows this place. He must have, but then he can’t remember. Of course, he’s spent a lot of his time drunk and lost. Stark Industries would have possession of the equipment, the notes. He staggers back and has to right himself before he falls over like a fucking turtle and can’t get back up. He holds onto the wall and closes his eyes. Why is he here? What is he searching for?

Before he can think about it, the words tumble out of his mouth, “The real Steve.”

He looks back at the coffin and something cold and icy passes over him, because he knows it is the truth. He grabs for every notebook, every piece of paper he can find that is even tangentially related to REBIRTH and Steve. He’s going to dig him out, like Steve’s a relic and Tony is the archeologist. He’ll dig and hunt and pry until he knows, until he understands who Steve is.

Maybe once he figures that out, he can find himself.

*oOo*  
He doesn’t hear the click of her heels until she walks right up to his console and interrupts the projection of his latest modeling. He thinks she’s been taking lessons from the mistress of assassination herself, Natasha.

“Ugh, geez, Pepper, what the hell?” He reclines back in his seat and tosses a rubber ball back and forth from fist to fist. 

“Yes, that is the question, isn’t it?”

“I love it when you’re obtuse, it gets me all, like, bothered in a good, hot kind of way,” Tony says and winks at her. 

Pepper smiles, and it is genuine and good and causes him to wonder how his relationship with her went so wrong. But he knows, now, he understands too well. 

“Tony, I thought you were going back to New York. But if you’re not, I just wanted to tell you I’m on my way back there tonight,” Pepper says and waits.

He’s not sure what he should say. Is she asking him to tell her to stay, is she hinting at something? For all the playboy flings he’s had, he still doesn’t get it sometimes. “Hmm, no, not until soldier boy feels better.”

“I thought he was better. At least, that’s what Nick Fury said.”

“You’re talking to Fury again? Haven’t we gone over this?”

“Tony, let’s not do this again.”

“You know, I’m not entirely sure what we’re not doing again.” Tony folds his hands and uses them as a perch to lean his chin on. He flutters his eyelids at her. “Can you fill me in? Enlighten me what the one eyed wonder wants now.”

“He’s interested in Steve getting back to work from what I understand, but he said you won’t even let JARVIS clear Fury to enter the house so he can talk with Steve.” 

“Steve needs rest.”

“You’re hiding him.”

“I’m protecting him,” Tony replies and turns away. He busies himself by opening up another one of his father’s files.

“He’s Captain America, Tony. He can protect himself.” Then she makes a leap that is wrong in so many ways it hits it out of the park for wrongness. “This isn’t the way to reconcile with your father.”

“Wh-what?” Tony spins around and glares at her. “What the hell?” He springs up out of his seat and says, “Truly, Pepper, I thought you knew me better than that.”

“We all think we know one another well.” She waits for that one to settle in and it hurts. She’s a devil in disguise sometimes.

He deflates and confesses. If there is one person in the world he can tell the truth to, it is Pepper Potts. “I can’t let him go out there again.”

“You can’t?”

“Yeah, I can’t. He can’t go out there again; I can’t watch him taking those kinds of risks.” Tony closes his eyes and knows right to his core he is preaching to the choir. She understands, down to the heart of it, where he’s coming from. “I can’t have him risk his life again.”

She blinks a few times as if she’s trying to wrap her head around it, and then says, “Tony?”

“I’m sleeping with him. I’m sleeping with Captain America.”

“Oh, fu-.”

“That’s about it. I’m fucking Captain America. Fucking his god damned brains out, and I can’t see him get hurt again.”

“I – Tony – this – I’m sure-.”

He rounds the console and grabs her shoulders. Christ, she’s so damn thin and willowy, but always strong, always stalwart. “Tell me how to handle this. You know, you’ve done it.”

“I just, my. Um, geez, Tony let me process for a minute,” Pepper says and he sighs, and then releases her. 

He doesn’t quite give her thirty seconds before he says, “Okay then, what do you have for me?”

She shakes her head and bites at her lower lip. “Tony, you and I we- we’re different. We aren’t on equal footing. You, you’re a superhero, I’m-.”

“Don’t you say it, Pepp, don’t you say it. You are a superhero. You’re my superhero. You’ll always be. I love you, Pepper, and I always will. Down to the core, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Tony.” Pepper reaches out and strokes a hand down the side of his face. Her eyes are yielding and full of tenderness and it eats at his heart that he couldn’t give her everything; that he couldn’t try to do what he wants to do for Steve, for her. Like she reads his mind, she places a finger over his lips and says, “Don’t. Everything we had, have – is enough for me, Tony.”

“Pepper,” Tony says and the moment pulls him forward like gravity toward a well in time. He touches his lips to hers and she softens underneath him. This is a kiss of love, of promise, of virtue, of affection. He will never stop loving her, she is family to him. She knows, she understands him, even if he cannot fully comprehend her.

She pulls away and smiles. “Tony.” Her hands are on his shoulders, their lips only millimeters apart. She whispers to him. “You know what to do, Tony. You always have. I trust you.”

“Tony.”

He thinks this time his heart might have stopped, frozen, paralyzed in his chest. He whips around and sees Steve standing at the staircase to his workshop. He’s clinging to the railing and his mouth is open as if in question. 

This is _not_ happening again. “Steve.” He forces himself not to move away from Pepper because that would look like all kinds of guilty, wouldn’t it? She wiggles out of his grasp and straightens her blouse and brushes her navy blue skirt. 

“I just,” Steve says and licks his lips. Tony can see he’s struggling, trying not to react to what is so obvious in his eyes. “I just wanted to.” He blinks and looks away and then back at Tony. “I’m gonna go. Yeah, um, yeah, go.”

He stumbles up a stair or two before the famous Captain America grace re-appears and he’s at the landing before Tony calls to him. “Steve, don’t.”

He heaves out a breath and says, “JARVIS, we are going to have a serious conversation about your willingness to get me in hot water.”

“As you say, sir.”

He rushes to the stairs but then remembers he’s leaving Pepper behind again, and feels like crud, worse than crud, more like that shit from between your toes. He halts. He can’t make this any worse, he can’t lose both of them. “Pepper, I-.”

She smiles at him and her expression is sweet and understanding. “Go, I have to get back to New York and finish up the sale of the lake house.”

He runs back to her, pecks her on the cheek, and is half way to the staircase again when what she said finally computes. “What? The sale of what?”

“You said you wanted to sell the house on Lake Chautauqua. The realtor has a great offer, I’m just going to finish up the details, and really, Tony, I’m not your personal assistant anymore. This isn’t my job.” She’s taking out her phone and tapping on it like she just didn’t commit a hideous crime.

“No, no, no, no.” Tony says. “I’m not selling the lakehouse. Never, I never wanted to sell the lakehouse.”

“You said you wanted to sell it nearly a month ago, Tony. I was lucky to get a buyer so fast.”

“Shit,” he says and stares back at the staircase again. “No, don’t sell it. Take it off, I don’t care what earnest money was placed on it. I don’t care what deals we made. Do not sell my lakehouse.” He grabs hold of the railing again and runs up the stairs two at a time. Before disappearing around the corner he says, “Pepper?”

“Just tell him, Tony. He’ll get it, he might be an old fashioned guy, but he understands love.”

He smiles and says, “Love you, Pepp.”

“Always, Tony.”

*oOo*  
By the time he gets to Steve’s room, he’s passed Bruce and Barton in the living room having an argument over Star Trek the original series verse Star Trek the alternate original series. While it is an intellectual exercise he might have been interested in, he whisks by without a comment. He is highly skeptical about the fact that Barton is willing to goad the Jolly Green Giant about his love for the original Bones. 

He leaves them to it, and finds his way to Steve’s room, which is off to the side of the house, in a separate wing. He originally placed Steve here to keep him from being disturbed by the riot of activity in the house while he was recovering from his injuries. It has been weeks now; Annie is officially on retainer but not currently in the house. Steve is very nearly fit for duty if the blood counts reported to Tony give any indication. 

When he enters the hallway to the unofficially-termed medical wing of the house, he tells JARVIS to lock it down and not to allow Steve out of the house under punishment of erasure. JARVIS is not amused, but then again neither is Tony. He climbs up the stairs and follows the curve of the house to the one room on this floor. He’d given Steve a beautiful view of the ocean. Installing Steve here had been difficult because it was the farthest room from his own bedroom. If anything, he wanted Steve closer to him, but it was practical and the right thing to do. Tony very rarely does the right thing.

Standing in front of Steve’s door, Tony knocks once and tries the knob. It surprises him to find it swings open without resistance. He finds Steve in the room with a smart phone to his ear.

He raises a finger at Tony to silence him. “Yes, Director Fury. I’ll book a flight to New York tonight.”

“What?” Tony says and then yells, “No, no, he can’t.”

Steve scowls at him but continues his conversation. “No, I don’t-. Yes, I will. I can give a full briefing.” Steve drops his shoulders a degree as he speaks. “No, sir. I’m not compromised. Part of being the leader of the team is to guarantee the success of the mission.”

Tony whispers to Steve, “What the hell?” 

Waving him off, Steve continues, “Yes, I’m willing. No, I will not discuss that. Sure, yes, as soon as I’m able.” He sighs, takes the phone from his ear, and presses the disconnect. “Another psych eval.”

“What? Why?” Tony asks.

“They said my head wasn’t in the game, that I let myself be tortured and put Natasha in danger.”

“No,” Tony says, but then it occurs to him he has no idea how that bunch of gangsters overpowered Captain America enough to drain him of blood. “I’m sure-.” But he can’t finish, because he really doesn’t know what happened and a small part of him, a screaming part of him, tells him it is his fault. He led Steve down this path.

Steve raises his hand and rubs it against his stubble. “Maybe, they’re right. But they recognized Natasha, too.”

“They what?”

“From all the news footage of New York, she was recognized. They didn’t let on until they separated us and told me who she was and that they would kill her if I didn’t cooperate.” Steve shrugs. “I knew she could take care of herself, which, of course she did. I just had to buy her time.”

“So you bought it with your own life?” Tony isn’t sure whether he should sock the guy or hug him. 

“I can heal, Tony. While Natasha is a great spy and agent, she isn’t super-enhanced.”

“At least, not that we know of,” Tony says. “Have you seen what she can do with her thighs?”

Steve chuckles a bit but then inhales to steady himself. He goes to the closet. “I have to get out of here. Fury wants me on the next flight out. He’s back in New York.” 

“So, you’re running again?” Tony says and crosses his arms.

Steve doesn’t turn around as he pulls out some of the clothes Tony had purchased and placed on the hangers for him. “Running, no.”

“What you saw,” Tony starts. 

Steve glances over his shoulder but quickly turns back to taking a few things out of the closet. Mainly, he picks up his shield and bomber jacket. “It’s okay, Tony. Really it is.”

“It is?” 

“Yeah, sure. You know,” he says as he turns around and looks at Tony, his focus is far distant. “You know, with Bucky, it was kind of the same. We meant something to each other, but it was war and it was harsh. Hell, we were all dead men walking. So, you got the comfort you could, when you could. Now, if Bucky had a dame, um, a woman like Pepper to come home to – I’d’ve understood. We all were like that.”

“Wh-what?” Tony shakes his head. “No, no, no, no. This is not going down that yellow brick road again to the land of weird ass ideas and things in your fantasy-infested brain.”

“Part of that I understood and then it went in a direction that just zipped right over the rainbow,” Steve replies.

“But you’re running again? Leaving?” Outwardly, Tony hopes to hell he presents a calm, collected exterior, like the dude he is in all the rags – the playboy he’s supposed to be. Not the coward, the one dealing with his damaged heart rapping a beat in his chest.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman, Tony.” Steve gathers up his belongings and picks up a small box, an unopened package. “Bucky and I – we meant something to each other, but we would step aside if the right one came along.” 

The headache robbing his sight blinds him and Tony puts a hand to his temple. “What the hell are you talking about? All I see is an idiot about to run away again for no good reason. You’re supposed to be smart, brave, and all that jazz. Instead, you just run at the first sign of any trouble. And for the record there is no trouble, no sign, no whispers, nothing.”

Steve grips the little package and says, “Really, Tony, why don’t you spell it out for the stupid kid in the room?”

“Why don’t you? You’re the one planning on running because of some misconceived notion that Pepper and I are a thing, an item, a couple.”

Steve bows his head and laughs. It is soft but doesn’t hold any mirth. “I don’t know what to say to you, Tony. You stay away from me. And then, I saw you, I heard you. You love her. I’m not going to stand in the way of that. You two, you have something special.” When he lets out a breath, the stretch of his t-shirt trembles as if it hurts to breathe. He blinks too many times, too fast. “I know how that feels, and I’m not going to be the one to hurt you and say you can’t have it.”

“You are an idiot.”

“Nice, that’s nice. Thanks,” Steve says. “Good parting words.” He slings on his bomber jacket and picks up the shield. 

Tony steps in his path and places a hand on his chest. “You are not going anywhere.”

“Yes, well, I have a plane to catch. New evaluations to pass. Lots of fun in the modern world,” Steve says but doesn’t move.

Tony notices he doesn’t have the package in his hands anymore. It’s sitting on the bed. “You forgot your package.”

Steve looks behind him and his face flushes hot and red. He swallows once and states, “Don’t need it. Just toss it.”

Tony tilts his head and says, “What’s in it?”

“Just nothing, I should probably, just toss it,” Steve reaches for it, but Tony snatches it away.

The box is about half the size of a shoe box. It has no particular markings on it, and if Tony was a more paranoid person, he might categorize it as one of those suspicious packages. “What is this?” He turns it over, it clangs when he shakes it.

“Tony, it’s mine, please give it to me.” Steve waits, but Tony can see in his expression, in his eyes, he’s forcing himself not to seize it from Tony’s grasp.

“I don’t think so,” Tony says and rips the tape off of one end. 

“It is mine, my name is on the package.”

“So it is. S. Rogers.” Tony looks at it. “But my address. So, I think I will open it.” He tears it open and Steve turns toward the door. 

As Tony pulls out the packaging, Steve touches the doorknob and says, “Good-bye, Tony.”

“Jesus,” Tony says and he cannot believe what he’s actually holding. “You bought this? For us?”

Steve lowers his head but remains facing the door. 

It is only a simple pair of cuffs, not the kind an officer of the law would use, but sturdier, thicker, more primitive with a heavy, long silver chain. “Steve?” When Steve still doesn’t turn around, Tony snaps, “Turn around.” It sounds more like an order than a request.

Steve tightens his shoulders but twists on his heels to look at Tony. His face wars between mortification and excitement. His eyes dart about the room as if he doesn’t want to focus on Tony. 

“You want me to use these on you?”

Steve keeps his eyes averted, but says in a whisper, “I wanted, yes.”

Tony walks to stand in front of Steve. Steve is a massive man, large muscles, strong jaw, firm stance, but at the same time, he never intimidates unless he wants to. Steve as Steve is a sweet, young kid from Brooklyn and sometimes the shadow of Captain America really overwhelms that reality. 

With a light caress to his cheek, Tony strokes Steve’s face. “You’re right,” Tony says in a tender tone. “I do love Pepper. I think I always will. But you’re the right one for me. The one I’m with and want to be with. Pepper and I – will always be together. But you and I are one.”

A strangled cry issues from Steve as he braces a hand against Tony’s shoulder. His breath is dense and forced as if he’s reminding himself to breathe. 

“Tell me this is okay, this is what you want? I don’t want this if you don’t.” He won’t let this happen again, if it could hurt Steve, if it might be difficult.

Steve grasps Tony and whispers, “Yes, I want. I can. You, only you, Tony.

Tony leans into Steve and says, “Take your clothes off, babe, and get on your knees.”

Saying the words fills Tony with the feeling of conquest, but also a certain joy as Steve responds immediately. He sheds his clothes with a beautiful grace that astounds Tony. The muscles of his arms and chest move in a natural rhythm that he appreciates as he does the articulations of his suit. Dropping to his knees, Steve looks up expectantly at Tony. His mouth is slightly parted and Tony sees a glimmer of saliva on his lower lip.

“Lube?”

“Bedside table,” Steve answers and his voice is husky.

Tony retrieves the tube and when he returns to Steve tells him, “Hand.” He pours a liberal amount into Steve’s hand. “Jerk yourself off.”

He backs up and sits on the bed to watch. Steve hesitates for a few seconds and the hand without the lube is flexing like he’s trying to decide whether or not to hit Tony. But then, Tony realizes he’s restraining himself from shivering in reaction to the command. 

“Ah, don’t. Don’t do that. If you stop yourself, I won’t touch you at all tonight,” Tony says and crosses his arms to wait. 

Steve blows out a breath and readies himself, then glides his hand over his hardening erection. His body quivers a bit and Tony sees goose bumps rise over his skin. Steve closes his eyes and Tony lets him, for now. He has to get into the moment, before Tony can push him any further. 

“Harder, if you please,” Tony says. Steve makes a little humming noise but stops and pulls on himself a little more. He strokes and pets. His cock is firm and leaking a bit of pre-come, but he’s still not close. Yanking, Steve grimaces and grows fiercer with his motions. He’s jetting it up and down with a single purpose. He wants to get it over with, Tony can see that.

“Look at me,” Tony says. Steve stops and opens his eyes. His face is red with desire and the flames of embarrassment. “Pinch your nipples.”

Steve shudders but complies. He takes a nail and drags it over his nipple and, at the same time, pumps into his fisted hand. He tugs and contorts until the nipple turns an angry red. With one hand working his nipple and the other hand on his cock, Steve moans and pants, his mouth hanging open in wanton lust. 

“Look at me,” Tony repeats, and Steve blinks open his eyes. His gaze is hazy at best and his lips are wet. “After you come, I’m going to bind you up and make you come again until you cry…but first I’m going to make you beg to be allowed to come. You want me to do that, babe?”

Steve groans and twists his hand on his dick. 

“You want me to do that for you, babe?”

Steve tries to answer but his words fail and fall apart. Tony slides off the bed and pushes the hand playing with Steve’s nipples away. He leans in and nips, then bites and pulls. Steve roils and shivers against Tony, pulling all the harder on his dick. He brushes his beard against the tender, sensitive nipples, then suckles before he moves away and stands up.

“If you want me to hold you down, and make you beg, baby, you better get this done,” Tony says as he stands to unbuckle his belt. “Come for me, now, babe.”

Steve spills hot and wet over his hand and coils about his fist in a flood of desire. He quakes and collapses to the side, allowing his body to jolt through the orgasm. Tony doesn’t give him a moment’s peace. He cannot. He’s hot and hungry and needy himself. He feels like it has been a million years, he feels like he hasn’t touched Steve’s skin, hasn’t brushed his hands down the solidity of his flesh for ages. He’s been deprived and depleted. 

He grabs a hold of Steve’s hair and yanks him up to his knees. “On the bed, now.” Steve staggers and stands. His erection warms and strengthens as he follows Tony’s orders. It really is a wonder to Tony. Steve fumbles his way to the bed and waits for Tony to instruct him. “On your back, knees up to your chest.”

Tony fixes a number of pillows under Steve’s head and neck. Steve follows the orders and grabs each leg and lays back. He’s exposed and open; Tony hisses a breath as he bites down on his lip to balance out his control. 

“We could,” Tony starts but has to stop, cough, and seriously get himself under control again. His dick is pulsating in his pants. “We could take this slow, or we could try something a little crazy.”

Steve huffs out a breath and grabs onto his knees. His words are half eaten by his tremor. “Crazy.”

“What’s your safe word again?”

“Parlor,” Steve mutters.

“Okay, grab each of your legs from the outside and then hook your arms under your knees. Bring your hands together over your belly.” 

Steve does exactly what Tony commands; it is a difficult position for him because he’s so muscular and thick. Tony studies him for a moment, this is truly interesting – how the human body can move and flex. Coming back to the moment at hand, Tony recovers the cuffs and unlocks them. 

“I’m going to bind your wrists together. It means you won’t be able to get out of this position unless I release you,” Tony says. “Are you okay with that?”

Steve nods, and shivers but he can’t do the full body roll and it causes his back to arch a bit and strain his hold on his legs. 

“If it gets difficult to breathe or talk you need to stop me. Either say your safe word, or tap me with your hands. I will stay within touching distance at all times, understand?”

“Yes,” Steve says, watching Tony with wide, dark eyes as he clamps on the bindings. The chain is long enough that it drops onto Steve’s belly. Tony examines it and droops it over Steve’s cock. He curls the extra links around Steve’s erection. Steve pants and tries to move but is hampered. Each movement will tug at his cock. For extra measure, Tony grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it under Steve's curled pelvis. He has nearly no leverage to move. 

“Okay?” Tony says and starts to disrobe. 

“Yes,” Steve says but his words are eaten by the throatiness of his response.

With the lube in hand, Tony smears it over his fingers and drops some of it over Steve’s ass. Its coolness causes a quake. “You want a condom?”

“No, want to feel you in me,” Steve murmurs in a groan. 

“Good, good,” Tony says and works his finger to the knuckle past the outer muscle ring inside of Steve. “Tight and so fucking hot, babe. You are so perfectly hot.” 

Steve tries to move into it, but he can’t in his bound position. If he tries, he jerks the chain across his cock. Tony chuckles a bit and moves his hand along Steve’s inner thigh. “Oh, babe, just relax. Just relax.” He stabs another finger into Steve and elicits a whine of surprise. “There we go, another. Now, how about this.” He begins to scissor his fingers and turns them inside of Steve. Under him, Steve is actively moaning and his gasps are ragged. “Tell me you’re okay.”

“Good,” Steve cries. “God, Tony, there, right there.” He arches his neck and a shudder runs through him; his body tenses as the chain tugs at his cock. He sobs out another sound that’s ripped from his throat in a horrible cascade of want and need. 

“More, you want more?” Tony caresses his balls and leans down to lick the base of Steve’s cock. It is straining and purpling from the rubbing chain. Three fingers in and Steve tries to rock on Tony’s hand. “There you go, you ready, babe. Tell me you’re ready.”

“Yes, Tony, I’m- please,” Steve says and yanks until he’s actively pumping the links up and down on his cock. 

“I’m gonna come inside you, Steve, make you wet and filthy with my come. You want that? Tell me you want that and not just my fingers in your ass,” Tony says and thrusts again with his hand.

“Yes, Tony, only want you, only you in my ass. Please make me yours, only yours. Make me into what you want, only you.” 

Tony slides his fingers out and lines up his dick. As he shoves in, he grabs the root of Steve’s cock and squeezes it. A sound of pleasure and pain quakes from Steve as he’s bound further by Tony. Clasping against his leg, Tony pumps into Steve as he holds his dick firmly in his other hand.

“Hot, god so fucking hot. How did you get so fucking hot,” Tony says and throws his head back as he revels in the heat and tightness. He grips onto Steve’s cock with a vice-like hold, not letting him come. “More, I want more of you.”

“All, ta-take it-all.” Steve’s words are broken and stuttering. 

Tony drops his head and gazes at Steve, so bound and exposed and bare to Tony. So expectant and in love, and trusting. Who else would Captain America trust? No one. And this little fact throws Tony into a frenzy of motion, he can’t stop himself. He’s hitting thrust after thrust, full and hard and harsh. He lunges in and takes, rips apart everything. He’s in a rapture of the physical; he loses all touch with the complications in his head. He falls off the cliff of his mentality, his intellect, and becomes just this – this physical, rutting animal. 

Steve never takes his eyes off of Tony. The jarring of his body shoves him against the head board, bangs and cracks. The chain tugs and pulls until his dick is raw and he’s crying against the motion, but begging Tony, asking him to let him come.

“Please, Tony, please. Let me come.”

“Not yet, not until I say. Never until I say.”

Tony tightens his hold on Steve’s dick and his strokes into Steve’s ass become frenetic, chaotic, as if there is an acceleration of time and space and he’s exploding into Steve in a mess of lust and love and emotions so big and expansive he cannot comprehend them. The shuddering overcomes him and he hangs onto Steve, curling him further in, as Tony comes and comes and comes. 

“God, god damn it,” he screams out. Then he’s falling, collapsing onto Steve, the chain and Steve’s hands pressed against the arc reactor. As Tony comes back to himself, he hears the light murmur of Steve beneath him.

“Please, Tony, please.”

“Babe,” Tony says and looks up at Steve’s tear stained face. He glances down at Steve’s trapped cock, still clenched in his fist. It is purple with desire, throbbing and twitching in his hand. “Can you come like this? Can you come from the chain?”

“Tony, please, don’t make me.”

“Are you sure? What do you want, Steve, tell me?”

Steve chokes back a cry and says, “Whatever you want, just do it. Rip me apart.”

Tony pulls out of Steve’s ass and then reaches for the lube. He drops some of the cold gel onto Steve’s cock and he hisses in response. He works it along the shaft and Steve thrashes in little motions in his bound position. Grabbing the links of the chain, Tony wraps them around his hand once and pulls.

The groan from Steve comes from his core, deep and thick and primal.

“Again,” Tony says.

He grunts and rolls and literally kicks with his feet. He cries out and begs. “More, harder.”

Tony complies, yanking the chain along the length of Steve’s cock. By the time Tony yanks again with a full fist of chain, Steve is writhing under his ministrations. Tony pulls on the chain once more, then relaxes his grip, letting all tension leave the chain, and says to Steve, “You and I are one.”

Steve comes with a guttural sob. 

He doesn’t stop, he keeps coming and crying and seizing in his bonds. As it fades from him, his body twitches and shivers. Tony works to release him, slowly, taking off the chain, unlocking his wrists, and helping him to unbend from his coiled position. 

Steve falls to his side, and bends into the fetal position. Tony hovers over him, whispering and kissing him. “Babe, you are mine. I am yours. You are perfect and lovely. So strong and courageous. You did good.”

These words seem foreign on Tony's tongue, yet at the same time he feels a warmth spreading through him. It is a wondrous feeling, strange, beautiful, like solving a complex mathematical equation for the first time. Taking care of Steve, holding him, holding him down, tearing him apart, then reconstructing him, gives something to Tony as well. He isn't sure what it is, this feeling is too new to recognize, but he knows he likes it. 

"Come on, babe, relax." He coaxes Steve onto his back, helping him to straighten his legs. The muscles in his thighs quake against his hands. "Tight?"

"Um." 

By studying Steve's foggy expression, Tony concludes he's deep within subspace. The look, the pliancy of Steve under Tony's handling shoots a burning stab of desire into his groin. He brushes back Steve's hair, shushes him, and touches his lips to his forehead. 

"Quiet, now." He nuzzles Steve at the hollow of his throat. He likes the feeling of taking care of Steve, of having this big, strong man beneath his hands, dependent on him. Yes, he realizes it makes him feel powerful, but at the same time it is humbling to have this control and to use it to serve Steve's needs. In very many ways, Tony sees his position as a dominant over Steve as also a servant to Steve's needs. He's never been in this situation before; it terrifies and thrills him at the same time.

Slowly, gently, he works his way down Steve's body, using his beard to tickle and scrub against the sensitive, tender flesh. He licks at nipples, kisses, and massages taut muscles. He works his fingers along Steve's thighs, who shudders under his touch, groaning a bit.

"Babe?"

Steve tries to clear his vision, Tony watches as he struggles. He rubs long strokes along Steve's legs. "Okay?"

"Painful," he murmurs but turns his face away from Tony in his patented response when he wants to hide something. 

Tony leans over Steve and places his fingers on his jaw to turn him and check him. "Tell me?" he doesn't want the pain to be just that, pain. He wants to give Steve the sensations he's looking for the intensity of pain mixed with pleasure to gut him and remake him.

"Good, so much," Steve mumbles, his muscles vibrate under Tony's hand. "Need you to." he stops like he cannot finish, like he's too ashamed to ask.

Tony wraps his arms around Steve as he lies next to him. "What, tell me, babe."

"Just this, just hold me through it," Steve says and clutches onto Tony.

"Through it?"

It comes, like a tidal waves of pain, and horror, crashing into them. He doesn't cry, no, not cry. What he does is break, fracture under Tony. His body, physically spent, draws his mind over the edge into the abyss. Tony isn't sure what tortures Steve suffers through, but he holds him nonetheless, keeps him grounded and tethered to this place, this new reality, this world he's in now. Somehow, Steve manages to make Tony feel as if he shelters all of Steve's massive build. Covers and protects him. 

They lie in the lasting moments of the daylight for what may be hours, or days, or seconds, Tony does not knows. He pets and caresses Steve in the quiet edge of twilight. As his boundaries fall away, Steve anchors himself to Tony. Steve stirs and shifts under Tony's embrace. This new part of his life baffles and puzzles Tony, that he yearns to be wanted like this, that he finds bliss in something so emotionally driven reminds him of building his first rocket. The joy and excitement exist and he cannot deny that he thinks his life had been all the poorer before these moments with Steve. 

It terrifies him, to need so much. 

Eventually, Steve emerges from his subspace enough to allow Tony to clean him up a bit and get him situated back in bed. He instructs JARVIS to order food, tugs on his pants, and then helps Steve get on a t-shirt and some sweats. His legs wobble under him, and Tony has to manhandle him back to bed. He doesn't fail to notice Steve gets slightly hard under his touch as he maneuvers him to recline on a pile of pillows. 

Before he's able to comment about it, JARVIS interrupts him, "Sir, Agent Barton is requesting entrance to deliver your food."

 

"How'd he take it?"

"Not well, sir."

Tony looks back at Steve and says, "Be right back. "

He races down the hallway to the door of the wing. Opening it, he finds Barton glaring at him with a stack of pizzas and a paper bag. "You want to tell me why I'm the delivery boy all of a sudden, Stark?"

The snarky remark would be that JARVIS doesn't have arms or legs, but instead he says, "Because we trust you."

Barton takes a minute to process that, then nods and turns over the food. As he turns to go, Tony calls, "Do you think you could send up some booze?"

Without looking back, Barton says, "Don't make me shoot you in the ass."

Tony raises a brow, then shrugs and locks the door. He returns to Steve, who looks a bit more aware and awake. He opens his hands and says, "Oh thank you, food."

"I'm going to have to remember to order before we play," Tony says as he sidles up onto the bed. "Pizzas, breadsticks, wings. And pie, I’ve been wanting apple pie. Good?"

Steve smiles and it is open and full and glows for Tony. "Good. Oh pie!"

"God, I love you," Tony blurts out and Steve laughs with his head thrown back. "I'm glad my domestic bliss is a joke to you."

Steve snorts, and wipes the tears away. "Never a joke."

"I know, sweetheart." 

*oOo*

Lying in bed, Tony rests his head on Steve’s chest. He listens to the strong and steady beat of his lover’s heart as Steve plays his fingers through Tony’s hair. Steve has his one arm folded under his own head and the other dancing through Tony’s hair. It soothes and quiets Tony as Steve speaks.

“It’s images, the feeling. Sometimes it’s all still there.”

“Still there?” Tony asks, but knows what Steve is talking about. He’s been speaking about his memories of the war, and how the images afflict him and surprise him and bring horrors he didn’t know he remembered. 

“Sometimes I can smell the blood. In the mornings when I wake up - when it’s still dark and there’s no other sound in the world, I can hear the mortar fire and the smell of the fire, the stench of the blood.” He swallows and Tony can feel the convulsiveness of it as he fights down the bile. 

Tony drags his hand across Steve’s chest, playing a bit with his nipple but just teasing without intent. “How do you, how do you deal with it?” 

“It had to be done, all of it. We were fighting against something so horrible, so evil it would have meant a nightmare for the entire world if we’d lost,” Steve says. He stops and lays his hand against Tony’s head. “It still hurts, hurts so much I want to forget.”

“I know,” Tony whispers and doesn’t confess his nightmares, his haunting dreams.

“And to think, I wanted it. Tried so many times to get into the army before Erskine finally accepted me,” Steve smiles. “He was a good man.”

Tony turns and places his fist on Steve’s chest to use as a pedestal for his chin. “You’re a good man.”

Steve leans forward and they kiss lightly. “I’m glad you’re there, to watch over me.”

“Watch over you?”

“While it tears me apart, you’re there to put all the pieces back together again,” Steve says and stares up into the darkness. “I’m glad.”

Tony shifts and lays his body over Steve’s form. They’re spent and Tony doesn’t think he could come for a week now. They’ve been in bed for days and he even thinks Steve’s lost track of time. They’ve enjoyed one another, read, watched movies, ate pie – lots of pie. It has been like a mini-honeymoon. So quiet and secluded with only a visit by a much chagrined Barton offering the delivery service and advice about whether or not their dicks are going to fall off from extended play. Tony just snickers at that and closes the door on Barton, not listening to Barton’s remarks about the bruises all along Tony’s throat. 

“Sir,” JARVIS says.

“We’re having a quiet moment, JARVIS.”

“Yes, sir. I noticed and thought it would be good to advise you that Director Fury has requested Captain Rogers contact him at once. He was adamant that I tell Captain Rogers he is three days overdue.”

“I should call him,” Steve says, but doesn’t move to get the phone. 

“You could just blow him off,” Tony says.

“I could, but I won’t,” Steve says and starts to sit up. 

Tony concedes and says, “JARVIS connect Captain Rogers to Fury. Audio only, please.” Tony peers over his shoulder at Steve as he sits up on the bed. “Unless you’d like to show off your wares.”

Steve smiles, wicked and innocent all at once. “Only if you want me to.”

Tony bends down and kisses him. “I think not.”

JARVIS says, “Sir, Director Fury is on the line.”

“Patch him through,” Tony says.

“Director Fury?” Steve says and waits for a reply.

“I’m trying not to request a full assessment of your current psychological and physiological state, Captain Rogers, since you promised to be in New York City three days ago.”

There’s something intensely wrong with having Nick Fury’s voice echo throughout the room.

“I apologize, sir. I was delayed.”

“Delayed is that what they call it now?”

“Call it?” Steve says and shakes his head at Tony.

“Whatever the hell Stark has you doing these days, Rogers.” 

Tony leers at Steve and he waves him away. “What can I do for you, Director? I was delayed but I plan on correcting that soon. I am currently working to get my affairs in order here and fly to New York City in the next day.”

Tony pouts at him and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Good, because we have leads on the Hydra situation. I’d rather discuss it face to face.”

Steve is shuffling about to find his boxers and to dress. “We’ll plan a flight tonight, sir.”

“We’ll?”

“The Avengers, sir.”

“The Avengers?”

“Yes, sir. My team.” Tony realizes he’s not watching Steve Rogers anymore, he’s observing Captain America take charge of the situation.

“SHIELD HQ-west will have a quinjet at your disposal,” Fury says after a pause.

“Thank you, sir.”

The line cuts off. Steve stands there in his boxers staring at Tony with a wistful smile on his face. He drops to his knees and lays his head on Tony’s lap. Tony runs his fingers in a caress through Steve’s hair, and down his back. He curves over Steve and kisses his naked back.

They part and Steve looks up at Tony.

“Off to save the world, Captain America?”

“Only with you, Iron Man,” Steve smiles and it is only for Tony because it is luscious and sweet at the same time. It pulls a bit inside and he hitches a breath. He kisses Steve once.

As they dress, Tony catches a glimpse of Steve readying himself, as if he’s preparing for battle – and maybe they are. The old fear is there, haunting them in the corners. In the shadows there is doubt and dread. Tony wants to stop Steve, doesn’t want him to go. He wants promises that Steve will be safe, that they will face whatever threat is out there and they will come back whole, alive, and together. 

There are no deals to be made and Tony feels it sink into the marrow, into the darker places, that he must consent to these dangers, these terrors. If he’s to love Steve Rogers – and he does – then part of the deal is accepting the fact that he is in love with Captain America. 

He gazes at Steve, not hiding it anymore. He thinks of all those documents and notebooks on the project that remade Steve into Captain America. He tore through those papers, dug through them with a singular purpose: to find the real Steve. He drops down onto the bed and submits to the fact he’s known the real Steve all along.

“Hey,” Steve says and stands in front of him. “Don’t, don’t go there.”

Tony looks up at him. He has his shield slung onto his arm. In the silhouette of light from the window, Tony can hardly see the glimmer of the shield, the colors, the single star. He’s not willing to admit to Steve that he can’t do this, that he won’t let him make the sacrifice play.

Not now, not ever. 

No matter what it means.

Tony vows it won’t happen. The sacrifice play is his and his alone. 

So he pretends and he gives Steve exactly what he needs to know. He lies to him. “You’re right. I’m good, we’re good, right?” He succeeds because he is Tony Stark, and he’s talking to Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers doesn’t know the real Tony Stark. Steve Rogers is naïve and trusting and doesn’t know how much of a bastard Tony can be. 

He stands up, slaps Steve on the back, and says, “Let’s go kick some ass.”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story will continue in a story to be called: Reactive Force - The force behind the new Hydra organization will be revealed and Tony's life will be in danger. The only way for Tony to survive is for Captain America to sacrifice himself.
> 
> Update as of May 7: The upcoming sequel is being reworked in order to account for events in Iron Man 3. It will take some time for me to write the story but I hope it will be worth it!

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me if you like this verse. I wanted to write a story based on BDSM dom/sub from the point of view of characters who didn't know much about it but are intelligent and smart. I also wanted to have Tony as dom in order for him to expand his learning about taking care of others. thank you for stopping by! 
> 
> If you are interested in when I start the next story and the progress of other stories follow me on tumblr at [Winterstar95](http://winterstar95.tumblr.com)


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